This Is Your Life, Good To The Last Drop

January 12, 2011
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Pick your poison at the dining room bar.
Arsenic is preferred, as the liquor’s bizarre.
Drink it up, and an ocean more,
dainty boat on a rough shore.

Bandages are of no proper use,
when you simply soak them through profuse.
Footprints line the hall, a double red line.
Follow them along, and with it drink up the wine.

The thick velvet drapes over prison bars,
the beads stitched into fabric scars,
the goblets that the guests are fed,
and people in their tight, pine beds.

They’ll drop, dizzy, to the floor,
and will they wake? No, never more.

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