Why are you holding
onto all this
pent up emotion?
An honest statement
begs the question.
Whats a vial to you
but another solution?
A conduit to a hopeless profession.
Is it your destiny to be written,
or have the honor of being forgotten?
Synthesize your thoughts
unto a sprawl of black inscription
on your knees praying for relief
from physical depiction.
"It could be worse,"
in the mirror you rehearse.
Until its over you'll never know.
Just plant the seed and watch it grow.