My Hot Tea

March 22, 2010
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The rush of my hot sweet tea
Warms my cold body
It slowly, painfully burns
In my arm…but it feels good
The crimson starts to drip
And I wipe it with my finger

The glass cup plummets to the hard solid floor
Shattering into millions of pieces
The needle brakes off
And I drop the syringe

I’ve reached my boiling point
I can’t keep doing this
I can’t look at my pale undefined face in the mirror

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