in response to Three Word Wednesday's latest post
It does not die with dignity, this thing.
It reaches into every corner and rips out chunks of whatever it passes
It snakes into the folds of you until you know nothing else
It's almost like a cockroach, surviving after nuclear lives
Rubble rains above and there it is, scuttling underneath your toes
reminding you to thank God something made it out unscathed
never truly benign, this thing.
though seemingly harmless and faultless and helpful
It cuts quick, lacerates loose muscles
parasitic dependence and alcohol inspired
it ripens,maturing then vanishing, leaving you gasping
withdrawals come in waves, and you tread water until you can't
always two steps ahead, this thing.
a salve, a poison
entices you sweetly, with a cheshire smile
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