The opioid epidemic will go on with or without me

I have made 

Sex and snow

One hundred thousand 

Times but this

Time, 

Under the apple tree

In shit-black soil

A bloodhound 

and I think about 

Old flings, and

Needles

And how 

I 

am going to 

Die 

And You

Have grown a new face

– Foam frames its mouth,

cocaine and saliva cling to its snout–

I

am here to wash it

And the bedsheets

In part because

of hangnails, split-ends, Gluttony

Miles crawled through the desert,

Repenting and

The lamb who bites her lip before her shearers:

Will she lead herself to the slaughter

With sufficient gratitude?

Presently, I step into the garden

But, the sound keeps coming

This piece was included in our inaugural print issue, Taboo. To explore this edition of MEUF Magazine,  please visit the issues page.