"Toxic"
Keith Morse


The taste of solder on my lips,
The feel of broken candlesticks,
The smell of ashes on my skin,
And dermal scarring from within,
The daily burning in my eyes,
And in my throat potential lies.

These poisons seep into my soul,
Corrupting all that once was whole,
And tempting me to find the gate
To simple ways to flank this fate.

I'll slit my wrist on Occam's Razor,
Following the broken laser.
On roads less traveled I'll remain:
The ones that bend toward the insane.

Don't sour me with dreams so bold
Which leave me rotting in the cold.
These wishes, so ideal and blind,
Are cancers of the grounded mind.

I'll throw away these rancid lies,
And wipe the stardust from my eyes,
While lying on a mattress stained
With blood and tears and ink marks, drained.