I move from
one addiction to
with newer and newer destructions,
arguments to prove that
this obsession (at least) is better for me.
I started off with a discovery of
Hims… Those boys with skin so light
so dark, &eyes reflecting the kind of mystery
we create when we have no desire to
know the truth. But in the end, the haunting melody
of soft clicks of shiny white teeth
crashing against dark (but easy) lies
grew to be too much for me.
After that, I dabbled in vanilla vodka
mixed with vending machine coke
but quickly grew tired of the way it hated
me in the morning.
Lately, I find my lips
wrapped around the edge of
a cigarette, trying to convince
myself that I look hotter with
death in my lungs. (I do, though.)
They tell me, it’ll all kill me one day.
I say–life’ll kill us anyway.
Besides, it’s all better than the alternative:
(I don’t have an alternative, that’s the
problem, I guess.).