She’s My Pill

My pills swirl down the drain of panic,
trickling through the acid-coated pipes.
Anxiety bubbles in my throat as I remain silent
with a cross to bear, a burdensome weight.
I’m black and blue without a clue.
Dead space makes up for fumbled apologies
through my foiled backup plan.
Aside from tasting your salty introspection,
nothing matters.
She accepted my invitation for dinner in the nude.

(© 2022 AC)

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