The alcoholic sip of air
immerses the pain,
rage ripples the iris
takes hold of my tears
rips apart the joy of life washed in sin
despair focused
prepares the stench of death
bathed in lust
the addiction that itches the skin
crawls beneath,
waiting
for the moment of uncontrolled fever
smirks in the corner
as I bite another piece of me.
The wax baked on limp dreams
that I was special
within the fire of hate
the circle of make believe
my lover goodbye,
my friend and confidant
my alter ego.
© 2015 Michaela James.
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