Like a Fine Wine


Love
That’s
Never been
Tasted

Is [Probably]
Still Delicious.

Meanwhile,

You can:

Pass the
Bottle

Back
And
Forth,

Maybe
Pierce the
Cork;

Even,

[light gasp]
Open it..

..For a
Little.

Enjoy your

Sweet
A-roma

Like
It’s the
Only thing
You have.

Share Your

Empty
Glasses.

Make a
Toast to
Sobriety

From each

Other;

Forever

Drinking

your a-part.

I’ve been Biting

my lips,

cuticles,

the insides
of my cheeks,

the callous
on my left
middle finger

where pencils
and pens made
their mark
on me.

the self-harm
is a hobby
of mine.

on particularly
bad lapses
of time
[like now]

these
fingers
dress in
band-aids,

my lips
layered potholes
from frantic
nibbled tears;

at night
i lie awake

afraid
to know the
aftermath of

what drink
after drink
has done

Similarly
to these organs.

A Rippin & A Tearin

My mother
is dying.

so I
bite off
my lips
for not
speaking,

my fingers
bloody
for not
reaching out
more;

drink
the organs
she gave me
stripped
and fatty.

maybe
this time
they will
heal new 

and
those skins
Will know
what to do(?)

911

You fed
and quenched
the body
of our
friendship

with flamin hots
and off-brand
sodas.

it feasted
on cream-dollopy
scrumptous
french pastries,

slathered
sizzling bacon
strips in
mayonnaise

before shoving
its mouth full
of indulgence.

now it’s having
heart-pain
under left
arm pit, and
asking us to
write it’s will.

it wanted
us
to know,

“you’ve got
to die of
something…

..why not
make it
something
you love.”

we’ve left it,

phone off
the hook;

A bandage
over
vital organ
failure,

to die, only
where it lived.