i cannot recall
the last time i drank
myself into a stupor
but i know every
note of a hangover
as mental exhaustion
tickles gray matters
which seemingly don’t

i yearn
for a connection
while keeping my
head down
finishing out
obligations so
i can spill out
these words of
desperate longing
without allowing
myself to be
destroyed again
dancing upon
razorwire suspended
over the chasm
haunted by remnants
of happiness

i have to suffer
one way or another
at least the fertile
fields of creativity
give a momentary
heft to the agony
while i daydream of
being almost enough
knowing i am not
to carve a tip into
this poisoned pen
i use to nick my
aorta and draw all
these torments out