KB
I.
is it obvious i am empty inside
down my cup quickly to quiet my pride
spitting sober truths at drunken love, but alas
naught to look forward to but another wasted glass
too faded to function, yet still too self-conscious
only face i make eye contact with be watch's
II.
not quite lost, but
damn
do i lack direction
III.
owe my liver a break & some much-needed affection
another round in for this good priest's ablutions
blessed me for writing my useless resolutions
crumbled up those promises to myself
like a good self-loathing politician
paradise was a field trip, but i
lost my slip of permission
IV.
tendrils of failure throttle me in the noose of reflection
glare at the glass till i'm numb to my imperfections
solitary nights haunted by phantoms of rejection
melancholy begets depression, her bastard heir
wallow aimlessly in the depths of despair
marooned off the isles of resentment
rage, the cannibal of contentment
sobriety has come uncorked
sanity drowned in port
