i crave sweet death the intoxication of finality my
finger runs through it feeling the poison of
everyday things rocks rolling down my throat to
crash corruption of blood forbidden landscapes of
marzipan and truffles shat in my hand it over finger
me not slash through to syrupy waves almost
frozen in the air i breathe the tint of chocolate
balanced on the line the fine things do me in and out
i go into the adventure of days doubling up as i hurry
toward the end things that soothe and kill disguise
the world words change sweet is death abandon is
satisfaction nothing calls me but whispers of cobalt
blue slamming into the black and bitter well rippling
muted awaiting the light shake the taste of the artificial
taken from the minds of men turned around to stare
me into submission i do not want i want to die with a
powder smile up my nose down my throat it doesn’t
matter when all the world is death owing me one hell
of a good time caged from my reach is everything i
ever wanted liquid brown eyes white powder something
in a glass i can throw away because my grip is nothing
hands slip over the surface that stands for what’s smooth
inside i wait at the exit gate for my lover to bring me a
picnic jugs tarts icing a ticket smooth skin and just a
breath of company before i go to where i’m getting
the complete set of recorded denials of defenestration of
any such intent i must be carried out kicking and
screaming must i will i dare not wait until it doesn’t even
make a moment’s difference i struggle for the right to die
just a little bit later lying under the sun light pressing down
like grapes being robbed of the natural sweetness of
death i never asked for this the world to be my
enemy with toxic caresses and everything turned upside
down so gravity runs up and hauls me to the sky before
i finish the drink that interferes with my life and makes me
vulnerable to honeyed words the trite situation of a man
sneezing in a field of his own flowers expelling his soul
into the dusty air watching it make shapes in small
reflectors stirring the insides of his eyelids into a dreadful
somnolence nothing wants me but death it woos me with
the altogether expected gifts it notes my passage notes
folded hand over hand to fit in a palm declare its love for
my discarded flesh in gradeschool tomes are you sick
good then come to me with blackened palms and tarnished
pennies ready to rule the road of good intentions i turn my
head but it whispers into my gills come with me play with
me lie with me so i lie through my fingers clutching at the
sweetness and encircling the stem i look into the needle’s
eye and point to where its head buries itself in my corpus
rooting like hogs for the merest sign of benevolence to
render it down to the least i can stand not to be without
a future if i could only present myself with the last of
these bribes that tie me to the track in memoriam for a
good time had by nobody i have dodged the needle but
it waits for me for my legs to fall off for my eyes to turn
inward and inventory the lack of light for sleep to turn
vicious it waits for me and until i run to meet it i can never
have anything and never know why

submitted by Marc for publication on poetz.com