Thigh skin is broken and
out secrets 
onto a Kleenex in my hand. 
A crimson river flowing, 
on agony;
too much to stand. 

Then there is vodka, whisky, gin
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, 
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. 

  • Author: draculazy (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: January 28th, 2018 20:37
  • Category: Sad
  • Views: 20
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  • Moom

    Wow very nice

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