Death Nectar Regret
take it in like medicine
cutting on the way down.
shot of death and regret
tasting just, like the fallout.
lungs inject Devils breath
poison time with a soft sound.
all the screams in my dreams
whisper tales of this ghost town.
when you peer in my fear
beating heart never ages.
guilt is safe when it rakes
the skin upon the traitors.
but there's peace in the grief
I'm falling on the razors.
when I'm broke I feel whole
hiding out, in my failures.
Poison
I am weak to many. They claim me, and embrace me inside of their chaos. The light and the dark. If I had to choose it would the light. Speeding me up, pushing me into the music. It takes hold so fast. Inside me, inside my heart, inside my veins, inside my spirit. It doesn't relent. It twists itself like a knife into me, threatening my life. Threatening my soul. But I caress it still. I carry it wether it's in my hands or not. It's my worst enemy, and my biggest ally. It's shaped me into a monster, a dancer, a writer, a demon, a human. It's become my bounty. My memory. Haunting and inviting. I miss it with each step I take away from it. It is the darkest part of who I am.
Belladonna
If I had to pick a poison
Let us see what I would choose
Belladonna for your ruse,and all that it made me lose
Adulterate my thoughts with a chaser full of whiskey,
Washing down the shots you spill out
Saying that you miss me
Polonium for a perception of turmoil
My soul stuck in a daze
Cannot adjourn from the twists and turns of this heinous maze
Ecstacy for all the times that you were next to me
Vodka for the present now that I am a wreck to see
Cyanide for the tears i cried having no where to confide
A blindsided ride that shattered everything inside
Handful of pills uppers and downers for when it is all too much
Mixed with a bottle hollow and calmly crucified upon this crutch
Aconite and hemlock for saying you love me each time we talk
With your past served pain in limbo I remain sitting at a table of shock
Mercury cyanide arsenic toxic venomous noose
But if I had to pick a poison you're still the one I'd choose
Daniel
Jacob and my fucked up mind
Dabney
May 2016
Poison
She is poison. She is venom of the worst sort. I find myself sitting across from her anyway. Worse still, I find myself wanting her, her poison be damned! Wanting to roll the dice and taste her seduction without choking on the poison that always comes with it.
She is poison. She’s destroyed men I felt were much stronger than me. Still, I’m getting drawn into her eyes that study me, striping the clothes virtually off of my body, imagining all of the ways she will pull me in, desparate to wanting her touch.
She is poison, and I cannot help myself but to want a taste of it. I’ve always come to her rescue after she’s burned all the bridges down. I’ve always gave her the shoulder, the understanding, the loyalty. Before now, I avoided the poison that she is. But I have lived my life avoiding poisons of all sorts. I have driven down the road of the straight and narrow and still got rammed into. My life is currently a car wreck of metal and flesh and blood and bone. I hurt, I weep. And I am too tired to avoid a possible taste of poison now. From my current vantage point, dying from poison seemed a better fate than dying from what already ails me.
As soon as the door to her house closes, our clothes melt from our bodies. Our kisses are frantic things, our lips finding each other through the chaos of becoming naked, in becoming the animals we truly are, in blending into something that is not quite one thing but not quite separate things either.
Her hand finds me ready, her fingers lightly claw me, laced with poison. Her touch is like she has known the map of my body and its desires intimately. Her damned touch feels better than my body has ever known. Poison.
We lie there in our sweat and flesh and kiss passionately in the aftermath of our spent desire. My perpetual gloom is suddenly gone. Perhaps temporarily, perhaps for as long as I stay with her like this. Is this another of her traps? I suddenly care now, but I don’t think it is. She is poison, but then again so am I. Perhaps as long as we stay together, the rest of the world is safe. Perhaps her poison is tonic for the likes of me. Perhaps as long as we stay together, we will not poison everyone else. We are poison. It is best for all to just leave us be.
Leaking Poison
Gulp a big swig of antidote.
Clean insides of leaking poison
percolating in your beating heart
spewing evil toward my closed lips.
Take aim if you will
with your poisonous darts.
I am barricaded behind
A reflective shield
and your spews of toxin
will bounce right back.
Fend it off with your hands
but the venom within
will keep circulating
through your veins
ulcerating your core.
Blackened poison may seep
through your fissures
and permeate my soul
if I tread too closely.
So I’ll never stand
downwind from you.
Lex Talionis
Lethal Injection, a three-shot cocktail,
If done correctly, works without fail.
Sodium thiopental, makes you comatose,
Especially at such a high dose.
Pancuronium bromide, the paralytic,
Would be grand if you’re arthritic.
Which brings us to potassium chloride,
Adios, farewell, au revoir, you died.
The Lady or Bottle
My father left me two vials to drink from. Both toxic and both designed to crush not only myself but those around me.
The first vial was labeled wife beater a deadly toxin that causes uncontrollable rage with a side effect of child abuse.
The second vial labeled as alcoholic the vial my father drank of before using the first vial as a chaser.
I wisely (or so I thought at the time) chose the second vial. I dove into bottles and left friends and family worried.
After a few years I found a third vial labeled rock bottom and have been sober ever since.
Suzy Homemaker
“Tuna salad. It has diced carrots and celery and other good stuff.”
“Sounds good. Do you have a bagel or pumpernickel bread?”
“I’ll get you the sandwich. Be right back.” She mixed the water hemlock and carrots into the tuna mixture. The Apothecary was right. It does look like celery. She smiled as she sat next to her abusive husband and hoped that he was hungry enough to eat the entire thing.
“You’re having the same? You don’t like celery.”
“I put them in for you, left them out for me.”
The Apothecary promised a painful death: convulsions, cramps, nausea, death. Even amnesia, for just in case death was off the table.
I hope it hurts!