Tincture of Torture

Weird Poetry

I had abstained from that tincture of torture

For months and months,

And had finally achieved a weak sobriety from an aching sore

That I couldn’t help but pick at and lick.

Then I felt its draw again —

After months and months —

Which with one taste

Were wiped clean off of my plate

As if no time had passed at all.

All I did was take a (barely) reluctant bite,

Just a small one,

Just a nibble off the top,

And now I am chasing dirge-spewing dragons,

With a thirsty mouth — empty and gaping,

Into someone else’s brackish night of horror.

I guess I have to start all over again now.




*** Get over yourself, Sweet Cheeks. ***