Ran my anxious index finger
Across the prickly fibers of a fat rope,
Happy to be so bold and strong.
Ready to support with all it's might
Whatever purpose it may encounter-
Just to get the job done.
Ran my tempted index finger
Ever-so-softly against
The cold and smooth shining silver,
Thrilled and contented to be so sharp.
Prepared to make the cut
For whatever repair needs correcting,
Just to make itself useful.
I ran that shaking finger
Over the stinging gray metal of a trigger,
Insistent on projecting it's message
Through freedom cased in an unforgiving bullet.
Ready to kiss my unquiet thoughts to sleep,
Just to protect myself.
Dug my pale, worthless fingers
Through a bottle of carefree little pills,
Hell bent on numbing reality, with each confident milligram.
Safe and secure, ready to stabilize sickness
And pain behind lips that could never explain.
Just to ease the dizziness.
Just to calm the hysteria.
Just to spiral out.