Make Art, Not War

Thursday, December 17, 2009


Dirty drug. I think I must be going crazy.
Put two shaky checks in the mail today and
I'm going out tomorrow night
-either way.

I wasn't kidding. Nobody laugh.
I didn't mean it to come out like that
with the hard edge of the tip of my tounge
and I'm biting my lip again
-tasting blood.

Sweet drug, this wasted life is
yours to warp and render.
I'm licking my chops and the sticky
tips of my fingers, swearing
it tastes just like the real thing.

As something worth mention begins to
take shape and I'm still waiting
but it's wearing off now, I'm coming down
(alone again) ignoring the cost of it all and
the taste in my mouth

Something like my own heart beating
pleading with me to just let it go.

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