Poison Poem by Kristina Stockamp

“What's your poison? ”
the bartender asked.
And she thought
as she lit a cigarette.
Sad songs she kept living,
because of the unspoken words in her head.
Her own blood destroying her body,
and several rotting corpses she kept
hidden in her closet
that she would never bury.
The pet demons
so much a part of her
she could never euthanize even one.
And her final thought,
was “Me, I am my own poison”.
But she asked for Whiskey
because she liked the burn.