Vice

poetry

There it goes

that pesky drop of beer trickling down the edge of my chin
substituting the tears I should, or maybe would be crying
Because I’d rather tears fall from my lips
Those succulent drops I can’t help but overstretch my tongue to catch

Gripping the beer can like I grip my sanity-
very poorly

There it goes again
that half-lit cigarette suppressing the pulsing vein lining my neck
substituting natural practices for an easy release
Because I’d rather blow ‘O’s’ for a few minutes
Then welcome back my anxieties once the cherry’s out

Gripping the cigarette like I grip my self-control-
very poorly

There it goes again, just like every other morning
inserting caffeine through a syringe till the last bitter drop
Substituting fructose filled fruits with a dark delight
That probably ensures more headaches than vitality
But costs less in the end

Gripping the coffee like I grip my addictions-
very tightly

There it goes again, like any other night
when all tension releases from the taste of melatonin on my tongue
substituting a few prayers and natural exhaustion to avoid my taunting subconscious
because the sandman was declared a phony just like Mr. Claus
so let’s blame it on them, like when we were kids

Gripping the pillow like I grip my reality-
very poorly

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