Seven valium.
Seven more,
beers.
I want to eat my spinal chord.
Tear it out.
It is full of what I need.
I need more room.
Two to a row.
Mortal terror at 25 000 feet,
thick, chemically induced fog and
memories of lust and love.
I am in many places at once.
Askew as I be, I remain thankful and
think to myself that
it is good to have something
to grab onto.
A hunk of rump,
an iron bar in a chair or
the edge of a bed.
While you fear for your life.
While you make a person you love scream.
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