Don’t Kiss Me, I’m Dying

Forget me not’s in plastic cups

You bring to your lips

To run down your esophagus

Like it is a drain and your body

The ocean where the rest of

Your being will soon drown.

 

A river of death but I am not sad.

This is the choice of the sinister

Twisted head figure that scurries

From bar to bar grasping

For that one last drink. Blacked-out

 

Is how you would rather be, but please

Don’t try to convince me

That this being is free.

The tide is stronger than it seems

And you are already caught in a riptide.

Bodies balance atop the bountiful seas,

Buoyant and battling a demon

 

Brought to you by the local liquor

Store. Blame the man. He surely put that

Drink in your hand. I repeat verbatim.

You sink voiceless. Only your eyes scream

And your skin sags but your mind is too dazed

To notice the water lifting you towards the sky.

If only you’d open your eyes and look up;

 

The sky is so peaceful and the birds still fly

Despite you feeling like you’re dying.

I won’t say “it gets better”,

Things never “happen for a reason”.

I speak to you in clichés because that

Is how the world will lie to you.

Don’t believe in bumper sticker talk,

 

Billboard promises, and talk show tales.

The news carries nothing new. To begin

Life anew it all starts with you. And yet

Here I am pretending to be speaking to

Someone else when I know all to well

That the “you’ in this poem is me,

And the feeling of dying comes

Before I take the bottle and only

 

Worsens after the twentieth sip.

I pace in my bedroom mumbling,

Crying, silently sobbing, sipping,

Gulping, drinking, bleeding from

The inside then purposefully

On the outside. This is life.

This is depression. This is the glorious,

Romanticized disease that carries

Me across the ocean after I’ve jumped

From the canoe, hoping to drown.

This. Is. it.

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