Sipping mercury mercury martinis on a purple cloud
I lose it
like I always lose it.
In between the sheaths of things
tucked behind the boxes
of inevitable losses
that tommorow brings
calcified in the dribble of all
I'm yet to forget
to leave behind,
untill al thats left
is the shreds
of my lost mind
untill my lips taste like mercury
and I just tilt my head back
and drink
This poem is about:
Me