and yet you're full of
broken shards of
cocaine and deadly
drugs you got from
evenings at home by the
fire and next to your father
"get a spoon, son,"
he said his teeth crooked and
inline with his cracked heart
"just like that, yeah."
killing himself everyday,
like dust in his veins he added
more and more
never less
opiates swam in his
pupils and
quirked his tongue in
random shapes
"son, get me some pot."
ticket to hell and stuck
under the influence
very high and
waxing in his stances covering his wrists in
x's and
yet never cutting
zig zags into his arms.
