I'm on a cusp of life or death.
Not quick like suicide, more
subtle. Life's habits can be
harsh on these bodies we've been
gifted. Treat it like a church or
carnival side show. It's our choice.
Alcohol is weakness or strength
depending on one's point of view.
My lab results raised grave concerns
about my physical well being.
I'd died long ago when I lost her.
I knew that I'd regret my choice.
The truth is when good and bad are
placed upon the scale of God
I believe it will favor my good.
What brought me here was sadness.
Joy died long ago when I lost her.
Forgive me for my selfishness.
I lost faith in my religion and wander.
Who can forgive my sins? Who can cast my
demons from me? Who can bless me at death?
Can I never be buried in sacred ground?
Now my faith is in pills and ***** and soft
places with perfume and happy endings.
My church is a bar with a pastor named Tia.
She speaks in tongues with a snake that bites.
Her venom is the sweetest thing I've tasted.
She brings me to my knees and I bow to her.
I drink her blood and eat her in communion.
I wake calm with my savior. I found my faith.
Dear Mr. P - [stop] -
I was your knife in the water, a credit card kept exclusively for killing - [stop] -
I was a gingersnap on your sugar train, a flower-filled glory box to swallow your whole wide world - [stop] -
I was night, night of the electric insects, praying mantis and ladybug — nervous animals, lotus eaters, enjoying a ceremonial after meal
- [stop] -
I was slivers of pseudoscience poisoned by man-made seasons — a new and beautiful and interesting disease - [stop] -
You and me, we are now the same — snapshots in sheared time, before the closedown of our impossibly ****** impulses - [stop] -
Best wishes, V
It's coming through a hole in the sky
It's decadence from back in the day
It's coming through a crack in the wall
It's debauchery and she's here to stay.
A time to live and a time to be our time
it might not fit just right but will do
for our never mind and who really cares
we found our perfect paradise for two.
Why do you always reach out for me
when you know it's finally too late?
You leave me living one second at a time
breathing between heartbeats and dying
inside broken promises. The things I
was going to do are never started.
I shoot up and live death awhile.
I keep dropping dead and come alive
and die again and death holds the
best dreams for us living zombies.
We lose families. We lose ourselves.
We wish prayers helped or AA or
sponsors or your heart and soul.
I dream of our first night *******.