Of glass and candy and poison

Dirty jeans and a pair of designer
stilettos –
the floor is littered with
old bills and scraps
of metallic poetry.

Prone to addiction;
alone with the monsters.

Some distant sound emits
from the radio like water
and color and
death.
An image floats through: eyes, blue
like dirty jeans.
Shards of glass scream down, carve
a path across porcelain cheeks.

Prone to addiction; never
alone with the monsters.