Count your blessings.

Alabaster coasters
underneath the bourbon brown vapor
are my only blessings tonight.

I'm too scared of being useless
to figure out a cure for it.
Could you write me to sleep?

Smoke always rises, I thought,
as I rise from my armchair
in the haze of my previous breaths.

The thought I could avoid
of giving my cancer points
is a prayer that I could sink a few more.

Now I'm lost in the distance
so far from my body
crawling underneath my own smoke.

Reviews

[Me]

Interesting poem and well written.

[trainwreck]

This is beautiful. You have an incredible way with words.

[Kelsey]

"I'm too scared of being useless
to figure out a cure for it.
Could you write me to sleep?"

This whole piece is just so beautiful, but those lines really caught my attention. I really feel that I can relate to it, and a lot of other points in this poem. As always, it was beautifully written. As for setup and word choice, you never fail to amaze me. Your work is a beautiful outcome of what a truly interesting and intriguing mind can do when put to the right tests, and you're testing yourself in all the right ways. I'm impressed, once again, by yet another beautiful piece of yours. Keep 'em coming. x