Going Fetal


Going Fetal

Ridge by ridge, the spitting flames
Lick at my shaking
Stabbing, wickedly, lancing pain,
Threatening to usurp
my tentative grip
I lay nestled in the fragrance
Of whiskey, and my own hair,
Trying to find remnants
Of the taste
Of you
On my lips

The silhouettes
thrown across the hall
Are probably
the only trace
Of life existing
In these four walls
Somehow, still alive
In this place

Those damned silhouettes mock, and laugh,
They dance across
My frozen face

And all of this, this
Self destructive
The promises I made myself
All narcissistic
Fatalistic surrender,
Or masochistic

Are just one picayune
Of the fantasy
in my head,
we dwell in
The illusion
I painted
For my mind’s eye
To see

And even if I
don’t make it past tonight
Even If I don’t reach
Even If I melt away into the ashes
Of this
Alcohol and tear fueled
Burning free

You should know
You were
And are
And always will be

Everything there ever was
In me

© CM


8 thoughts on “Going Fetal

  1. Sand says:

    Powerful enough to be heavyweight champ. Painted so starkly and in such shades of despair, it stands on its own feet, bleeding.


  2. feedthefeesh says:

    Your writing wakes me up more than coffee; we both know how big of a statement that is. 🙂


  3. Madsies says:

    Keeps getting amazing with each word. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

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