Maybe it is time I had a whack at crack

Bring me the beer. the pill. the sticky substance of eclipse.
That fat sulphurous egg of a moon stinking up the unmarked green of the night..
I'll swallow it.
I need to get FUCKED UP.
Junk is what they call the stuff that clutters the cellar
or gets shoved into veins
and maybe I should
ride that white horse..a slap-happy-school-special-cliche
As if Cobain sang
hello
hello
hello
just to me.
subtext here being: I'm sullen as a dishrag. maybe drugs are what I need.
It seems that my Muse broke up with me.
took the dog and left the wishes..and now this rain tries to wash me like dishes on the floor.
I am Art..constipated. eyes empty as cans.
I reach for the ipecac just to get it back out.
I hear songs in my head held hostage by my impotent hands and it makes me want to kill.
I have seen the mouth of infinity and it has teeth.
Plans. Dreams. Lists dropping from pockets. Bags of dirty laundry.
Worry is chewed like dead skin on a lip.
Knuckles whiten around the nameless vacance in this grip.
Something Sinister spills like ink into milk..
It is SPR E A D I N G