I never tasted suicide as sweet as coffee
or dark roasted but the night is young
and I am still less caffeinated than
despaired before the water torture
bores a hole into my sanity
aromas cut the air pretending
to be razor blades and I can only
understand the slightest surge
of drug-induced euphoria —
questions stacked like unpaid bills
the mortgage running late again
and where are we? why is she unmovable?
and I unbreakable?
why can’t we just belong…
© Ben Ditmars 2014
Image Source: Flickr