Thigh skin is broken and
spilling
out secrets
onto a Kleenex in my hand.
A crimson river flowing,
bringing
on agony;
too much to stand.
Then there is vodka, whisky, gin
brimming.
Ethanol is
filling up my head.
I pull up my trousers:
white as
gardenia -
I pray they will not turn red.
I hold a vial of poison
up to
my nostril;
brain light as air.
I kill off memories,
quicken
my heart\'s speed,
but I do not care.
Three distinct addictions
Are the
Ammunition for
My inevitable end.
As I wash off
The blade,
Empty the bottle -
I put on a new face
And I begin to pretend.