addiction

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.