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The Proud Addict

A caricature.

Compensating for a lack of substance

with substances.

Denying reality by substituting another.

Cannot make sense

so become senseless.

Celebrate self-inflicted demise

and call it a party.

Drinking from the punchbowl of death

in a slow, cultish, mass-suicide.

Solace in knowing the outcome:

death by own hands.

The Temptress

Muse, muse, muse again and confuse.

Flames of desire tower high and only a mist to quench.

Is the occasional whetting of the tongue worth

the burn ever-present?

It’s about control.

Only a moment here and there for her;

A brain –racing, -folding, -twisting, -turning, mind-fuck

that defines and stops time

for him.

Oh damn you, goddamn you…

What can I do for you next?

Please leave me alone

so the dejection can take hold

to restore the blandness of normalcy.