in my sweaty palm, melting
is medical-pink candy coating.
the pieces click, clack, roll around,
and the generic sugar tastes sweeter
than ever, sweet like a fever, sweet
like smiles under the concrete bridge.
tastes like sweet'n'low piled high in one-
dollar coffee drained in two seconds,
like buttercream frosting smeared
across your arm. tastes of the indoors,
of doors shut, of stale snicker-doodles.
it is sugar that tastes like promises gone far.
when i swallow (that is three, four, twenty more)
i can taste it in the pit of my stomach:
sweet, sweet candy coating masking
the poison, the anodyne, the analgesic—
candy coating to cover all the little scars.
i was an idiot.
I keep my ibuprofen in a Marlboro box
hidden deep beneath the pages of books that ever so kindly let the time pass by.
I take my ibuprofen two at a time
because they always used to tell me “good things come in twos..”
I guess that was true before I met you.
I swallow my ibuprofen with anything I can find because substances like this are highly divine, one of a kind.
— The End —