on the brink of madness
how many glasses of whiskey
one must down
on an empty stomach
before the demons
come off the walls at midnight
and start making
the arrangements?
how many before they
ask if I need
someone to talk to?
because I’ve scratched off
the painting,
left the bare concrete bloody
and my knuckles ripped
to shreds,
but all I’ve heard
is laughter.
the final glass of whiskey
I’ve grown disgusted with the wind, the sun, the seasons, clothing, food,
punctured tires, and eggs stuck to the frying pan.
I take one step aside from everything I’ve ever known,
from the classes I taught, the good and bad grades,
from the cracks in the sidewalks I jumped over as a kid.
I remove myself from tomorrow’s morning, afternoon, and night.
I step aside indefinitely; let someone else deal with all of this bullshit.
I don’t
want it
anymore,
and you
may judge
all you want
because
I won’t
be there
to hear
it.
I remove myself from the frame— become last year’s photograph.
I smile
as I lift the first glass of whiskey
in my last night on earth.
time bomb
I wish I could crawl out of this skull
and sit on a cloud drinking champagne
while watching it all topple down
on itself.
but every morning I wake up
with the same pair of shoes by the bed,
and the same neck pain,
and the same need to punch holes
into my liver.
another time bomb set to go off
at age 27.
Dumpster Fire Press 