Ten P.M.,
and still tallying the score.
I ran out of room,
on the chalkboard,
and there’s still plenty more.
Worms wiggling around in my wounds.
They dive deeper with each dose.
Self-harm serotonin,
and the absence of the holy ghost.
Take another sip,
and add to the score.
The number of times
I’ve disappointed myself
is something to abhor.
There is a monster chasing me,
and just when I think I can outrun it,
it speeds up.
Or do I slow down?
Comments
Post a Comment