#9

tools, me

Cheap cigarettes and alcohol are mine,
the ways I cope during the hardest days.
At night so that I can cut out the lines
in-drawn by daily lies, I try to daze
myself with television screens and dreams
of times when I will finally give in,
when in release I'll scream my loudest screams
before the darkness soothes away my sins.
In lies and drugs and wine I try to find
something to help me cope – to cope with loss,
the loss of what and who steadied my mind.
For now I drift. In sleep I turn and toss.
There is no help that stays beyond an hour
but love, and that I tormented til sour.