bloody pawns on a miniature board
“The background cuts
like a scalpel.
I can’t let it take me.
I’m too real for that.”
When she was a kid
she wanted to grow up
and be a doctor.
Slithering from sleep
her mind started to race.
A bump before anything,
then she’ll check
her messages.
When she’s sober
she hears her partner
leaking. Flooding the gutter
with red screams.
“I am one thing. Revenge.
Anybody who thought
I’ll take this loss
was dead wrong.”
On the iphone her father
said he’s filing
for a restraining order.
He said more.
She didn’t read it.
The flip phone gave her
more unwanted news.
Her ketamine connect
had been pinched.
She walked to her kitchen
and sat. The table was cluttered.
Ziploc bags plump with colors,
little gold shards, a .223,
and a ghost gun.
“Next bump, my bones are burning.
I’ll keep making money.
I’m gonna win this battle,
then I’ll win the war.”
All day, all night,
addicts came through.
They shopped and she
gave extra to those that
provided clues. Tips which
might help her
find her target.
She kept snorting.
Powder had her flying.
She could conquer this hell.
Nothing fair on her block.
Gold rules and the score
gets settled. One giant trick.
No player can change the cycle.
“I really crave a different life.
I actively push that
yearning away. My destiny
is here and now.”