blackout blues

addiction

The sun crescent adjacent to my crooked spine, blooming flower reaches the sunlight through corridors of stronger weeds just to die.

Pseudo me with six inch headache wounds, pounding nails in my stratosphere breached with blackout blues.

Discerning the credit of my promise to stay healthy, I lie into the pints of foreign barley.

Old scratch collected words thrown into mesmerizing quotes to cover up misread abstract art. If you don't get it at first or ever you just pretend.

Reprise of Friday nights, seven year cycle spinning colors until they are blacked out.

Heart grown to the size of Jupiter with smoke rings stuck in traffic around the pulsing strain of my iron lungs.

The hardest working organs running marathons with no breaks, flooded and choking on my mistakes.

My vital frame shaking, hoping for a moment to relax, but boss upstairs sobering up time for relapse, blackout blues, and mental collapse.

The moon round like the diameter of the bottle, a time for sleep postponed just to forget that any of this happened at all.

The rigid calling with worn down vocal cords, because if it's not a coffin I'm in then I'm not waking up.

Vision smeared like large paint brush swipes, this time I'm truly cutting years off the life clock with every knock of the glass against the sticky counter top.

With every Charlie Chaplin waddle walk, and every fallen position couldn't make it to bed, should be lined with body chalk.

Don't take advice from me when I am three days deep in a two week binge, as if at this point I even know what recovery is.

• addisone