Standard Practice

I have dug my fingers so deep into my arteries

That I can taste the hemorrhaging pain of last decade's memories.

What a silly little way to pass time, shredding my neurons

And hoping that enough will degrade inside my psyche

That I could slip into the territory of a pretty fool.

I crave naivety.

It's a vampiric force inside of me, this bloodlust for a way to

Forget.

There is an earthquake rattling the plates of my soul,

Shattering the fine champagne glasses I stored

On the top shelf of my mind.

I deleted the words, peeled them from my thoughts,

And woke to them pissing on my pillow

Like some kind of permanent claim

On my shattering mind.

Strange what broken things,

Wicked things,

Can come to crave.

It is standard practice to give into cravings,

Standard practice to bend until you break

And I have broken,

Like brittle candies,

All across your bedroom floor.