Ecstasy
by Gerardo Dominguez
Choking down the vomit
to keep the bed clean,
while wallowing in filth,
and wishing I could sleep,
the brain conundrums
torture me, as I'm overwhelmed
by cynicism, and my own
pessimistic ramblings,
visions fleeting
upward and onward,
well over my head,
--I am nothing, I am less than that,--
uselessly trying
, compulsively turning,
I hold back the vomit
like I hold everything else back,
but it tastes disgusting
so I spit out a little,
and it all comes pouring out,
falling towards ankles
still sore and throbbing,
both my heads still reeling
from the mixture of strippers
and their lust for money,
I'm spinning, or is it the room,
I'm dying, as I fall down slowly
but what is it to you,
as I'm fading, I smile
at a perfect reflection
through the broken glass,
it's jaded, and broken, and bleeding,
all the shards of glass
cut me deep,
hands broken and bloody
I laugh,
the surgeon general was wrong,
cigarettes were not the death of me.
