Clawing Counters
Racing thoughts strangle me,
My attention is single minded.
Like an animal, I begin to hunt
For my true nirvana.
My hands are clawing counters and my eyes pursue the floor.
Instincts are taking over and I begin to sniff.
Where is my shameful secret, a bottle so discreet?
My dirty little secret, is avoiding me.
Like a stealthy warrior, I fight for what I need.
This little degrading bottle has such a hold on me.
An attraction that has gone to deep,
It’s not good for pathetic me.
Like an authentic savage,
I have my captured my sneaky prey.
Now that I’m pleased, and I can finally rest,
I offer myself a handful, of its sweet content.
Maybe an a hour, or maybe three or four
My body will start crying, and begging for more.
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