Gone To Waste Poem by Aiden Francois

Twisted.
Demented
I don’t even get it.
I don’t sleep.
I get these urges.
Feel the need.
The obligation to cross bridges where even angels fear to tread.
The call to open flesh.
Become mesmerized by the flow.
To reach for the bottle.
Consume till the lights begin to dance.
The siren rings in my head to touch.
Trail fingers down skin.
It makes no sense.
This isn’t who I planned to be.
But I never knew the plan to begin with.