drainage

foxhole prayers

cutting corners from
the kitchen table to the inevitable jail cell
they say it only ends three ways

dying is the closest to me, always has been.
reaching it's wicked hand out in the name of everything degrading. i've welcomed it for so long that death is a part of me.

empty broken bottles and chainsmoked newports in the graveyard of my heart. the words left unsaid. the words told too often; like how i ramble that you're more than enough for me. one day we will both believe it.

but you're gone now, selling death in pill form to hopeless teenagers. and i wonder if any of them are like me. do you ever you ever stop to think that you're killing the girl you love? girls just like her? the recovering addicts never got through to you, i suppose. i hope you hate yourself. i hope you get better. i hope i never see you again.

for too long:
feeding loopholes to myself
and the god of my understanding.
hoping he lets me die.
now, wishing he will save me.

it's all dirty work, cross on my neck
hands against my face
maybe, if he doesn't see what i have became
he will grant me serenity.