Not sure if I should, but I feel that I must.
What the hell, they’re just words.
Little stories, footprints in dust.
Consuming urge to shout, to plead,
Please don’t passively nod, listen to me.
Java and watered down Jack,
Bars of isolation,
Shot glasses filled to the brim.
Unwittingly, my vulnerability gulped down,
Satisfying demented intent.
Razor tongue pierces bone,
Venom, spite, hate and loathe.
Voices drift over Hades’ breeze,
Don’t call me Persephone …
No blood, no foul just emotional disease.
Apologies errily frothy,
Blame, argue, attack and blame.
Baptized in poison,
Starved for attention,
I’ll make it up to you someday …
You hear the voices,
Did they murder your conscience?
Or is it still tied to the clothes line out back?
Withering, weathered, worn … no more.
Drowned in 150 proof, buried in coke, pills and pot.
Muffled demon laughter floats from beyond the veil,
Naiveté, undeserved trust.
Words filter down from on High,
Echoing through the hushed chamber …
“Thou shalt not …” No, your Honor, I won’t (then again, I may).
“Thou must’nt … “No, your Honor, I shan’t (but I will).
“Dost thou understand …” Yes, your Honor **shaking head in the negative**
“You have been warned, I don’t want to see you here again.”
You won’t see me, I’m done … Almost.