the slow imbibe of cyanide
the demons clutch
some people need to be wanted
while others want to be needed
most of the time signs are read
other times they go unheeded
count their pain on your fingers
count the rope burn of a ligatures tale
this train ride has faiths knuckles white
this life erodes mind and patience
and that’s the truss of the chosen narcotic
that’s the sling that holds the lame arm of its poison
that’s the bitter taste of a nectar once so sweet
the lachrymose slow imbibe of cyanide
its whisper is a cloud like betrayal
soft in its ignorance to your unwavering slide
you’ll die for the thing that hates you the most
wink a mercurial eye, the slow imbibe of cyanide
