Drowning in despair,
the inevitable mire of horse shit.
Let us retire to your room,
let me sink my iron into the warmth of your flesh.
Our being together,
soothes me, in its outlandishness.
My equilibrium is gone,
my eyesight blurred.
Is there an alter to kneel before?
My anxiety is displaced by whiskey,
and a fondness for the congregation…
I had a relapse,
almost found religion,
found myself in the dirt instead.
