an unwilling hand,
a silver flask
of my particular poison,
of an addiction stronger than
life and love.
They shared their revelries with a stranger
gladly, generosity a curse
in the midst of a New Year.
And try as I might,
I lost my inner fight,
the will to throw down that silver
to the confetti- littered ground,
and smoothly went that
promise of let-gos and hazy freedoms
into my resisting throat,
stifling cries of
“Don’t do this,”
because liquid is heavier
than words you don’t mean.
Thanks for reading.
