Scarves Rings and Lipstick

CRAVINGS

I crave the feeling of a whiskey glass in my hand
Squeezing tight
Unknowingly clutching it til my knuckles pale

I crave the whistle of a whiskey glass as it tumbles through the air
My ears bleed to hear all care being tossed

I crave the crash that comes in succession when it hits a wall
Some call it an obsession
I have no apt words

I crave the teeny tiny cuts from pieces of fine glass
As I pick them up one by one
A little pink here, a little red there
Tears everywhere

I crave a wide smile
With a burning fuse between my lips
To contemplate the damage done while lit
It doesn't sound like a ball of fun
I've succumb to my destructive ways in the search for a better way to love
Old habits fit me well like a hand in a glove
But only for a little while
This time I pray I'll know when I've had enough