My Wine
They are nothing more than a series of thought provoking lines.
Turpentine kisses. Sodomized wishes. Frozen fingertips
and nothing to dream on.
Thoughts– fleeting; lost in despair. A sea of non-existence.
A resistance of breath in the lungs. Continuous, repetitive heartbeat.
Endless white noise in your mind while the trees suffocate outside.
Dead air. Stale and humid. Headache inducing and nausea.
Days all roll into one– a combination of insomnia and fatigue
shadows and memories, like violent murals on your living room walls.
The ground is pitted and soft beneath you and it feels like moss
moss covering the decomposing muscles of life past.
Shallow enough grave, but please don’t protest. Your eyes say enough as is.
Do you realize that you’ve already put every secret on display?
The cruel, the selfish, the lost, would tear at you if givin the chance
and they’d eat your soul like scavenging vultures
only hungry to heal their own infectious, pussing wounds.
Hush lover, lay back down. I’m no savage beast.
It’s not possible for me not to love you, and I cannot stop my desire.
I know you’re broken and I’m aching to heal you.
Because you,
well you are my ecstasy.
The sweet intoxicating wine that keeps me hitting the bottle.
It’s hard to swallow how beautiful you are when you whimper
and the aftertaste in my heart resounds for days.
I enjoy the erratic beating in us both, and I am addicted.
Addicted with no interest in rehabilitation.
You are my poison and you’d haunt me in the afterlife
(you’ll destroy me eternally).
I hate you I love you I love you I hate you.
I need you; let me drink you. You are my wine.
And I want you.
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