In these pools of eyes
there's a sickness
reflected in the thick clear liquid
sitting on my lips.

Every word I said last night

was an epiphany,
a gospel,
pouring out of my mouth
like song out of a lark,
as the energy drained from my limbs
and the sun rose over the trees.

And after these words of great dignity
were spoken
I felt ashamed of myself
for feeling so superior,
after all,
I poison myself every night
to escape my vantage point.

It's my milk of destruction
to let myself go,
to kill my ego
and to allow me the freedom
that simplicity brings.