Bad Liver

This is a poem I submitted before. I rewrote it.

 

My liver is bad, well then—let it get even worse! – Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

drink

drank

drunk
I am sitting in cold abyss-mutilated stupor

I fell into a hole like a ghost
my corpse like a unfulfilling balloon, sunk on a horizon
humanity escaped me

I passed out, a punk pissed,
I saw streams coming at me, gold like champagne

awake! I become
virulent, violent and visceral

no longer simple
no longer a feast

formless
eyes dying
lips fall loosely from my face
static thaws the concrete world

I slip into the myths of the near future
I drown in empty swimming pools
I fly with wax crusted wings

whirling into an abyss-mutilated cloud
the soft decaying structure, ripped apart by black holes

the disease makes it worse!