Cherry Liquor

My guts spill along with my dinner,

the shadow of some fries.

Along with

a bottle of cheap rose and half more of clogged blood-red wine.

Cherry liquor and

Regret.

Oh, regret...

My guts spill, along with my thoughts,

summer storm ravaging anything,

especially

those bottles of wine

Sweet poison and

Regret.

My guts spill,

and I no longer feel

the bottle in my hand,

its kiss of death

the liquid slipping down my throat like coarse, black sand…

Oh, sweet regret.

The void does not fill…

I dance around in the darkness,

following the rhythm of a song only I could hear.

The bushes hold out their hands for me to grab,

thin twigs gently brushing my face,

leaving behind slivers

of tiny red rivers and memories.

I'm in the centre of attention,

dancing in the minuscule patch of nature.

The song becomes erratic,

like an arhythmic heart rate,

I trash around, a tornado of flesh

and then

silence.

The void does not fill.

The dirt of the ditch is welcoming,

like a home I've never had,

warm like the insides of a caring mother.

It calls to me in a honey-sweet voice.

A gaping wound swallowing me whole;

It fits me like a glove