the thought is chilling

It pins and needles me. It stings. The same way the devil clings to an angel just to teach the color red.

Do you like that? Do you like it like that? Me out of breath stuck to you on horseback. Throw me a mint from across the room so my breath doesn't smell like bad words. Can you taste that?

How dare I --
bring up suicide in a family conversation.
That's not appropriate.
Don't say that, she might get anxiety.
Say that, so she can get anxiety.
Anxiety over the idea of your sobriety.
Suffocate me entirely.

Over the idea that maybe
for a minute or a second or an episode
-- manic
that you might actually
understand what it's like
to get drunk
on yourself.

To get over yourself.
To get under myself.
To drench each other in mahogany.