Days, nights, and hours pass through me
like the tap water
dripping on my toes.
Sitting in a tub filled
with water that smells of iron;
a damp cloth on my head,
a folded towel at the arch of my neck
to keep it from the harsh
On the toilet beside me sits
my new King that may be the
blood of a dead savior,
it’s a five and a quarter bottle of ether
that tastes like burnt strawberries dipped in molasses.
The bottle is half empty.
She walks in,
with tones and rhythms
that would only be decipherable
to a blind aborigine.
There was meaning in her voice
but it was lost
in the cooled air conditioned atmosphere
and the thick syrup of my thoughts.
She grabs the precious elixir,
smashing the bottle
over the edge of the basin.
Glass shards like snowflakes
cutting up the skin as they land.
The red-violet fluid makes effigial tendrils in the water.
I remember this girl
as the mentally prepubescent child
I met years ago.
I watch her burgeoning womanhood
for the first time.