If I’m the crazy one,
rolling up sentiment like
a combustible drug;


if I’m self-medicated to
off-key symbols, then the
beat of my drum has
failed me, and the

In any case, this has been
fun, hasn’t it? Of infinite
possibilities, it
only took
a pillbox and none of
the skill to swallow its
to crystallize my
promises beneath
busted capsules.

If I’m the junkie here,
I’m only addicted
to you,
hocking what little
humanity remains of
my castle,

moral decline so
masterful, no wonder
withdrawal is its own
twelve steps.

I swear if you
let me, I might not awake in
tomorrow’s debt.


2 thoughts on “Unconsoled

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