My shoulder blades’ girth played the role of a harbinger
As bony as I got; the more I saw myself as a skeleton
Malnourished, malevolent, maladjusted malaise
Mocking in malformed metaphors to try to explain
There’s a concession of an all-dead jury saying my name
A prosecutor in a straitjacket who thinks I’m insane
Hazy weekends- labored breathing, eyes barely widened
Glassy-eyed, with no boundaries heightened.
Fantasize the database, sharing data with the
Armed and dangerous, highly contagious alien race.
Every door saying push but being tailored to pull
Judges with mallets in the same shape of my skull
I throw stones in a glass house daily
Pantomime as a cat and mouse flailing
A bone to pick because these past lives failed me.
Bloodsucker, with a lost childhood and adult haven
A gun runner, that touches base with the unrelated
Inundated safe spaces of every other generation
Heartbreakers are misplaced trust stations.
Mass murdering and love laden
Sputtered out a quarter, and meant less of your words lately
You fucking half-murmured anything worth saying
Innate phrasing and a caprice crisis
Blinking twice, as a signal to police snipers
I’ve gotten anxious, because I’ve told you I’m not anxious
For that I got chasers and glasses for my motherfucking shot-takers
Calm-nerved and for-God-saken
Modded sign language, for up-and-comers with violations
Every moment spent sober – a cry out for help
Tullamore on the shelf
Books in the wine cellar
Spending most of his life wishing I’d try better
Heart of a lion, mouth of a sinner
There’s something so dystopian about 19.84 oz. of liquor
May my last words be half-slurred and cathartic
Judy’s favorite blue jeans stained with tear drops and saliva
My intervention will be besmirched within silence
Orwellian Glass House: A Short-Story about Despair, Redemption, and Hope.
