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.