toxic instinct

Photo taken in Europe.
Photo taken in Europe

addiction looks

like the

knife gleaming

in his hand

preparing the

dinner we

used to have every

night as a family. 

every lonely night that

reminded me

that addiction

is another kind of kill.

another kind

of destruction

stitched into

pretty lies of

my demise.

all the brown

eyes looking

down to the filled

plate that shame

told me not to eat.

Each chopping

motion, fast

in a hurry.

i cant remember what

i am talking about

the meal preparation


my skin?

the freshly

cleaned carrots

or my arms

or my thighs.


pressing pause


fast forward

rewind or repeat.

only now the

ghosts resemble

faults or futures

weighing down

like hammocks

beneath my

heavy eyes.



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