When one self-medicates,
Sometimes they grab the nostrum
Rather than the cataplasm.
Trying to clean the well, they mistake belladonna for myristica.
Perhaps it was the region or the season,
Maybe the water table atop which they were building.
Were it a town,
Perhaps its citizen lacked hygiene
Or had no care to maintain things.
Maybe they sparsely talked things over
And thought little of one another.
Of the many circumstances,
It could've been the building materials
Or the architects.
The dictates we lay out
For ourselves and those around us
Rarely are truly followed
In the case of relations between each other,
And typically less so
In the case of the larger world.

I am my father’s daughter.
His blood flows in mine.
I feel the cursed liquid run through my body,
with every beat of my heart.

It’s like gasoline,
slowly poisoning me –
as it did to him.
My clock reminds me,
with every tick –
“Not much time left!”

There is no escape.
The enemy is inside me,
hunting me down –
just another fallen soul in his way.

I watch myself in the mirror,
my father’s face looks back at me.
I hate what I see, just as much
as I hate him.

But he was just a child once too.
Feeling the same poison run,
through his fragile body.
I pity him.
But I do not forgive.

Your promises are like roses
Your hands are like knives
A drug I'll take in small doses
knowing it took many lives

A promise with a wounding thorn
Coax me 'cause your caress incises
An ecstasy was born in a human form
and I'm consumed by its noxiousness

Slop
in the trough.
Poison cough.
Shattered femur.
No dreamer.
In a world of crime
It is
Time

trapped words that I cannot  
scrape from my mouth  
spread like poison.  
radiating tendrils  
running under skin.  

I stab the pen into my arm,  
draw out the black bile  
coursing my veins  

and use it for ink.  
pouring my pollution onto the page,  
scribbling the bleak and vicious  
cogitations  
the nefarious abstractions  
that dig into the hushed  
corners of my soul.  

I hope to drain myself-  
enough to return colour  
to my veins,  
bleed red once more;  
taste joy and love  
on my palette  
in place of ash,  
and the ruthless regret  
that clings to my tongue.  

I am fading,  
withering like a husk.  
I fear I will run out of ink
and find nothing red left

Why do we put poison in our minds?
The way we cling to false hope,
The way we watch the TV until we go blind.
Maybe we want to be blind to all that
happens in the world.
Maybe we want to turn blind to our own
sorrow,
So that we don't drown all together.
Why do we put poison in our bodies?
The way we drink until three a.m.,
The way our fingertips burn as we hold the
cigarette that will eventually burn our
bodies, burn our souls.
The clouds of smoke covering our guilt.
Why do we do anything wrong when we
know what we are doing is wrong?
Has the world not been cruel enough that
we inflict pain upon ourselves?
It is an escape, everything really.
Long nights where a cigarette and a glass
of whiskey becomes our lifeline.
Days when we stare off into space.
Lost in a universe we create in our minds,
Or even worse, when we put on that
obnoxious fake smile.
Loneliness eats away our souls, almost
drags us to hell.
Maybe it isn't an escape rather the last trial
that we all suffer together as we share this
big secret and secretly waste away our
lives in moments of solitude.
Moments of solitude we all need,
Not to feel everything but to forget that we
exist and so does our pain, grief, greed,
hatred, hunger, anger and ambition.
Why do we feel the need to die alone?
Why can't we just be?
Everyday I undergo my trial and enjoy the
last supper alone before I sleep,
Hoping and waiting for life.
Because all I ever do is escape.

you say you’ve changed, but i don't see it in your plastic wails.
you only say “sorry” to avoid the burden of guilt, only to
press the foot that you placed on my back even harder.
i can still feel the silent venom of your words, to me
or not. do not take me as idiotic, because even
though this vessel of ragged skin and bone cannot
hold up physically for himself, he has learned
not to trust those who shed snake tears.
i’m not to be fooled, i’ve been fed poison from strangers
since the day i came into adolescence - all because of one thing, myself.
and it comes to life - the thought that those who judge others
are nothing short of their remarks. so, call me feminine and fragile
behind my back and act as if my ears deceive me - but they
don’t, and serpents like you i won't fall easily prey to. and easy
prey i may be, but not to be captivated in the hands of you.