biting down on pure heroin

by suicidallyanonymous

This is the glass divide,
where hours are molten lava
of time’s decaying wounds.

Here I am a myriad
of untidy horrors soaking
my tongue.
Caught inside a box,
and I am a contortionist;
heavy little bones
telling me how not to breathe.

Riding scripture barebacked,
like that of a tidal wave:
rippling from the shore
where my idols left me
to thirst.

Gunpowder skies
packed tight,
trap the escapist airplanes
in pockets of lint
shackled to your ankles.
It’s foggy behind
my vinyl lips.

One Comment to “biting down on pure heroin”

  1. Edgy, as if pursued by demons and finding, like Sartre, no exit . . . On the bridge having leaped but with someone still holding your hand, pleading ‘don’t let go’ . . . A nightmare in verse . . . Or a daydream in reverse . . .

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