RED CROSS

Siringes pull across my veins
and tear at docile daydreams
that pull apart my destiny.

Paper-thin prodigies
taunt me when they're sleeping,
nestled in between my levers
of compulsive gambles
and heart-felt paranoia.
And the light at the end
of all this luxury
is licking fire
burried deep within this wanton breast
burning circles across my chest
as I pencil in the cross-hairs
with a razor
plied with absynthe
and the stains
of someone else's names
for what I'm all about.
And the stakes in my palms
itch to tell me
there's money coming.