Carson Wolfe
I rack up lines of a poem when the drugs are gone
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I have been sober for 21 days. My therapist
says hiking can control my urges, so I chalk up 106 miles this week. Withdraw to woods where the sun glares with God upon the river, projecting a mirror that scorches my pupils like ants under a child’s cruel glass. I crave the sanctum of the house where we all party. And blackout blinds bottle the night for me to keep drinking until I lick the last drop of dignity. I squirm my way into a hollowed out tree and unleash the impish fiend burrowed in my nose. I itch and twitch and scratch I was here I was here into the belly of the bark with my coke claws until they are filed down to nubs. I’m the one who enjoyed herself too much. Never learned when to stop or how to comedown to the sound of black birds chirping at sunrise believing it was not they who were the enemy. |
Biography
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During lockdown, I changed my Instagram bio to “poet” and adopted a cat so I can live like a real writer. My work has since appeared in an anthology by Hidden Voices, Brag Magazine, and Stone of Madness Press, amongst others. I Instagram from Manchester, U.K @vincentvanbutch.
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