Ember flares, breathe in.
The crackle of ash tickles my throat,
open your eyes, this wallow high
never lasts long enough.
This group I’m in feels dizzy––
none of my friends see straight
morality twisting, turning
birthing from our torsos, double helixes.
Like staying in bed all day.
Past is past is passed,
shove it down, dissolve it in whiskey.
Take the shot, slam the glass
if it breaks, all the better––
Mix and match it in my bloodstream,
a cocktail of internal cacophony.
Her eyes terrify me, sting my stomach;
it’s passive aggression that wilts my lily.
Listen honey––
Not everyone is blue skies and good people
least of all the succinct cocoon I call
myself.
Haven’t slept in a month
and I’m not starting now.
Kathryn Smith