don’t fight it-
this mudslide of swollen dreams

that whisks you toward the grave.
don’t say its

more than you can take
just take it-

over your skin, smooth like gin,
in a glass that is black

so you can’t see a thing
till it’s all too late.

flesh pressed against
the gate

foolish

hopes drip away,
gurgling down the
drain.

used to think
you would die if it all
turned out this way.

Then it did.