Friday, March 15, 2013


             — Inspired by the poem "The Addict" by Anne Sexton

We wrap ourselves in pale shrouds 
long before our eventual demise;
it is our way of accepting the inevitable leaving 
before our journey begins.

It is not an amicable divorce, 
this severing of burnished bone from feverish flesh,
this decapitation of substance from fury.

We would toss these gold circles of chaos, 
these finger chains we were never offered 
or given into the nearest pond,
would it not pollute the pure water's surge of clarity.

We wage battles against ourselves, turning our furious bent backs 
on real or imagined enemies we would rather slaughter in haste,
yet it is our own blood we spill, hypnotized by the thick flow.