Behind Worried Eyes

I deal with stress in the tamest of ways

I am no rebel

I do not have herbal remedies

To float my body to a distant plane

To ease each thought into laughter

I stay fearful of the chemicals

I could let melt upon my tongue

To bring visions that fight reality

With a double edged sword

No, I am no extremist

When my thoughts form a whirlwind

That threatens to shred my brain apart,

Pour out my eyes and mouth in tears and gasps,

I suck down my cigarette with great urgency

Let the smoke fill every inch of lung,

Refusing to exhale

Until the glass shards inside my skull slow down

I slam cabinet doors in search of glass bottles

My holy relics of poison

I gulp each precious drop

To let waves of numbness take over

To let my immobile body sink deeper into the couch

In my silent, empty living room

And when the bottles lay empty on the kitchen counter

And the nicotine has done all that it can

I take to the secret hidden in dresser drawers

The faint silver shimmer beneath folded shirts

I hold the blade to my pale flesh

Watch shades of red paint patterns down each arm

To focus my scattered mind on a single point

To give my shaking hands a single sense of control

Yes, I deal with stress in the tamest of ways

The End

1 comment about this poem Feed