I wish I could say
The only vestiges
Of my alcoholic ways
Were the adipose cells
In my belly
But blotched
Suicide scars
On my arms
Reside
The beauty of my face
Marked by concrete
And metal
Some of the feeling
In my toes has been lost
My continence grows
With every morrow
But I’ll take it all
And more
Now that booze
No longer runs
A permanent river
Through my veins
You needed at least 3 to really stay alive, he said. Broken glass was perfect in its razor blade geometry A jagged champagne flute sliced the skin at the bar The ravers ran as roaches do at the flick
The garbage we tell ourselves. The mindreading. The self-inflicted verbal lashes to our naked backs. We are the very best at castigating ourselves. When he went so deep inside that he could not get ou