Drink Up

Drink up the dregs that lay restless, neglected, pooled in the dip of your dusty wine glass.

Insist that we pass the pipe back and forth, inform of the ways it’ll help the time pass.

Staining the mattress with freshly spilled crimson, you offer up fruits from the vine and the vein.

Tiptoe ‘round eggshells with twitchy abandon, I try not to linger on from whence it came.

Relight the bud with a flicker of fuel, relish in cotton that dampens our heads.

Act like it’s normal, like you didn’t relapse, act like I don’t see the blood on your bed.

Call out to me, cut through my abstraction, comment on places my mind might’ve wondered.

Tell me of tragedies, tales you relive, take me to stories that birth from your somber.

I cannot focus on our conversation, my gaze itches back to the carmine remains.

Overture ending, crescendo impending, I think of your loss in these vine and vein stains.

Nagging distraction, I cling to refractions, fester with worry ‘til I feel insane.

DRINK

IN

SICKNESS

THAT

REGALES

A

CAUTION

'TIL

ITS

ORGANS

NECROTICISE