they can't forget a drug so sweet

[monkeybread]

with capsules in palms each night,
eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles
arrangements for a pocket-sized journey.
queen of this condition.
expert on making the trip
The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-
blows eight at a time, socked in the eye,
hauled away by the pink, the orange,
the green and the white goodnights.
It's a kind of marriage.
It's a kind of war where you plant bombs inside
of yourself.
to kill yourself in small amounts,
an innocuous occupation.
It's like a musical tennis match where
your mouth keeps catching the ball.
Then you lie on; your altar
elevated by the eight chemical kisses.
What a lay me down this is
with two pink, two orange,
two green, two white goodnights.
Now you are numb.
Are you proud?

-sexton