Posted on by madisonhh666

[i haven’t written a poem in genuinely years and i’m not sure if this even counts as a poem, but it’s very revealing and i sorta like it, idk.]

tw: drugs, needles, addiction, being a fucking idiot, etc.

syringes and spoons with that layer of black ash on the bottom

and on your fingertips

and on your countertops,

just literally fucking everywhere,

melted onto everything

like extremely telling ink blots,

(when you look at that crescent shaped one on my jeans, what do you see?

an incredibly lacking social life, poor circulation, and a dismal future?

yeah, me too lol)

staining your clothes (among other things),

sound really poetic,

but not so much if you nod off in the bathroom

before you can even finish

the poem.

-madison h.

fall 2019