I live my life through the words I write
You taste so good
manipulating my brain chemistry
to make me miserable,
doubtful,
unwell.
Despite strawberry, vanilla and chocolate notes
the skull on your label
paints the real picture,
not the words.
Cutting down to my bones
no skin to hide behind
I see old wounds still bleeding,
longing for care.
I forgot they were there,
I cannot see them without you.
Still, they bleed,
drops of red wine.
Funny, the irony,
in having ink etched permanently
on my skin
of the very thing
keeping us disconnected
and breaking,
a picture of the very thing
I strive to do,
but am not.
All I need to do
is look at my arm
and do
what the picture shows.
I saw you coming, but you still snuck
up on me,
bringing more strength, brutal force
than I anticipated,
than I could prepare for.
You must have been planning this attack
for weeks,
just when I thought you were gone
you not-so-kindly reminded me
that you’re still here,
you’re never going away
and you will certainly be back.
That’s how you like it, isn’t it?
To study, stalk and unleash on your prey,
me,
when I least expect,
when I am least prepared.
However,
your destructive methods require some fine-tuning,
for each time I get stronger,
better, more attune to you.
You won’t have the upper hand forever.
Scan, survey,
poke and prod, stab and dig
the ground until you find
a glimmer of red
an apple of the ground.
Dead plants above
wilted and brown
bear bountiful fruit below
if one has the will to break
through the dirt
or skin.
Dawning Words 