Up goes the regret and the guilt
Through the passage
My sense of smell;
Built up
And the taste potently powdered in sheep’s
Fleece.
Appearing small but mighty,
Fighting the skeletons
I’ve dressed in
Suppression.
Questioning that fine line
Like a chalked silhouette
At a crime scene.
Pure emptiness
Resets itself
And I am tempted
By the euphoria.
Next time,
I’ll erase the line
And pass the time
With more of these rhymes.
The skeletons will dance
On the grave of sobriety
And the high will be
Low again.
Misunderstood InSaNiTy 