The bitter medicine goes down my
Throat, biting at the edges of
My innards, making the cure feel
Worse than the sickness;
A cliché worth forgetting about –
But I shall not forget what you
Had said to me; just before
We went our separate ways;
Did our separate things,
Which we both shall never know,
But I will always remember
Always know what it was like
To take the dark liquid
Of life – it goes down hard
But always finishes off the bad stuff
January 4, 1997
