41.

I dreamt of even less than this
than clouded pink evenings
in the most broken of bars

I never dared to imagine
I could stop swallowing pills whole
devouring friends’ pharmacies
and bleeding out in the street

To wake up every single day
and not take a train
my first instinct still to run away
and swallow bottles whole
cut with shards of glass and liquor

There’s misery yet – but it’s a dream
and my new heart
isn’t all that it seems

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4 Comments

Filed under Poetry

4 responses to “41.

  1. Beautiful imagery. “Swallowing shards of glass” it’s what we do when we poison ourselves. Beautiful.

  2. Hard to swallow this … compelling all the same

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