Bloody Cocaine

Day after day, 

and night after sleepless night,
I tire of this pain, 

this turmoil.

A small, 

intricate flame, 

flickering in my chest,
scorching the delicate tapestries of love,
waiting for the next dose of you and yours-
and even though I will not get another one,
the longing just grows.

If I could have you,
I wouldn't want you.
If I didn't want you,
I could have you.

So I sit night
after night,
in dreams unmentionable,
churning in subconscious pain,
tired of the hurt and the sorrow.

I cannot escape, 

the insomnia breaks me.
My nude and vulnerable body twists with no one
to love. 

My wrists lay razor-kissed,
my face clawed and gaunt.
My chest barely moves, without its heart.

My tears glide earth-bound,
without grief,
for my grief is exhausted through years.

I feel ugly. 

Unwanted. 

Cast out. 

An exile.

I cannot rid my empty chest
of your marks, your spiney-white scars,
your ugly art that's marred my shattered heart-

So I hate this excruciating numbness.
The cold cloak of indifference.
And I am tired of chasing after the bloody cocaine,
I cannot have.