a two to one ratio, applied both to the perfect cocktail and a man’s idea of sex.
a night on the town, those frosted glasses in your mom's pantry.
a slip in the ice, smacked face-first into another rum and coke with a side of sertraline.
a remedy for lost love and hopeless romantics, you say.
a pack of zombies walking the streets, too faded to know their names.
a half-empty bottle of José dark, close enough to reach from the comfort of your bed.
a bag of pills in the back pocket of Carhart's, matching tuque concealing unwashed hair.
a little older and before you know it, a pouch of cocaine becomes the escape.
a simple double vodka-cran turned to vomit covered bathroom stalls,
a one-night stand on a piss covered basement couch turned into a rape allegation.
a demon working full-time inside the heads of teens, the only one who's hungry for more.
a pill and then another, chased with tequila and salt.
a simple experiment to feel,
a sweet escape if you will.
