Small Sacrafices

Sing me an incoherent lullaby
As you and alcohol merge
Sing me an incoherent lullaby
And I'll try to fight the urge

To bash the other poets,
Though dense, frail, and frantic
To use sticky caps, to curse without end
Like a sailor on the Atlantic

You're fluttering like a butterfly
Is shrouded like that of a moth
Your desire for a hollow funeral
Is hushed by your obsession for cloth

May I defile your shrine?
Are you really saying I can't go?
Trauma! Ink stain secrecy!
How else would I know?

I ask, if you can find it
In that abyss you call your heart
To let me in that tangled web
To persecute your art


So sing me an incoherent lullaby
And I'll sneak in through the back
Sing me an incoherent lullaby
So I may know the allure of a panic attack