every sense of reality

these are
the days
where i
i didn’t
do enough
drugs in
my life

didn’t open
my third eye
wide enough
to drain every
sense of reality
from my brain

i’d feel more
floating in a
field of neon

three sheets
away from
a good stiff

worth the pain anymore

i used to see her face
in the lightning when
i was a child

some effortless angel
that would save me
on the nights my father
drank too much or when
my mother decided she
needed someone to take
her bad day out on

i stopped seeing that face
around the age of eight

right about when i realized
what my cousin did to me
when i was four and suddenly
life really wasn’t worth the
pain anymore

and i had elaborate plans
involving a ladder, the tree
and a sturdy rope

i never could tie a good knot

i gave up in my teens and
figured it would be easier
to die with the needle still
in the arm

no luck there either

the bottles seem to only
give me power these days

and i don’t have the money
for a gun or enough duct tape
to seal the garage air tight

reluctantly, the sun will rise
again and i guess i’ll just
make do

that sad sack of life

you’ve reached that
stage of life where
you know deep down
that the proverbial “they”
have decided you aren’t
good enough to fall in
love with and spend the
rest of their eternity with

it’s a wonderful crutch
to have as a poet

because the poems
from that sad sack
of life are endless

but it’s those hard ass
looks in the mirror
each morning

the showers alone

coming home and realizing
no one is there to greet you
or give two shits how your
day went

another bottle of scotch

coltrane plays you to
sleep once again

time has never moved
so slow