Recovery

I’m only another possible corpse
Spirits whisper this into my sound cave
No one is comfortable
Here except the near
Deceased – the refrigerator room
Preserves the pain
Sky blue paint coats each wall with
The hue of despair
Silence probes me into a muted trance
Monitors are moons – they are
The only eyes in this darkness
As mine are blinded by shutters

My grip is an endless choke around
The neck of the Demerol trigger
I’m one push away from teleportation;
Time Travel
And two giant steps from a mini-
Bathroom I’ll never enter

This is my cafeteria
I’m fed the empty meal of recovery
Tasteless fruit deprived of thick juice
I complain not, I remember the voices
I’m being watched

Two butts warm the couch
Whose surface morphs into canyons
Controlled smiles help us all escape reality
For a false moment

We enjoy misery together

– Eric McCarty (2/21/2012)

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