drug of choice

a poem (escapril day ten)

i. i can have fun sober, i promise, but nothing turns my gears quite like revenge, or spite even. there’s a certain high you get from generations of cursing and i never want to come down.

i pray for your blood to boil, and mine starts rushing.

you tell me i can’t make art, but darling, haven’t you heard that phrase about killing what’s yours (beautiful and unimportant)? you’re the first to go and it burns my nose and throat in the way i like.

it’s cold when you’re happy but i sweat nonetheless. sweat like someone with something to hide (maybe i am). sweat like i’ve done something i shouldn’t (maybe i have). 

ii. but on nights like these when it hurts and my bones become dust, i find myself needing a hit, at least one, of you – of your affection.

i crave the sweet, sweet numbing effect of your kiss – please drench me in saliva, i don’t want to remember anything.

i guess drugs do ruin you, tear you apart bit by bit, but i’ll let you do it anyway.

you look at me with hungry eyes and i look back at you in the exact same way, my eyes wetter than usual and maybe a little less brown.