Carbamazepine Dreams

And this adrenaline is what keeps her from falling off of the moon,
Keeps her from falling into the sea.
And she just got a whiff of something beautiful,
something broken.
Something fleeting, ghost-like, something soft-spoken.
And she clutches onto his memory like one might clutch a dying child,
As the sunsets slip beneath the stars strewn across the sky,
Unabashed and wild.
And her silhouette fades, conversing with the shadows,
And suddenly she begins to ache for the salty seduction of the ocean.
Burns to just let her sorrows dissolve in the murky waters.
Drowning seems so preferable to this, this
Eternity of carbamezepine dreams.
Firefly adversities that cling like fog to her cadaver, reeking excess.
It's nights like these she wishes to be swept away
On a wave of morphine and butterfly kisses
Engulfed in the breadth of a stranger’s saliva.
And she lusts after surrealistic notions of forever and yesterday
But is lost in the piercing convulsing traffic
Of her own compulsions.
So she takes a drag from her cigarette, her nightmarish worries
Turning charcoal in the filter.
Watches the nicotine cloud roll out of her nostrils and unfurl into the dusk.
She’s leaving.
She’s falling.
Disappearing.
Try and stop her from evaporating into the sunset.
And though she wants nothing more than to
Slip over the edge; plummet into some kind of indigo abyss,
She’s still stuck in a fourth floor apartment
New York in January.
Something keeps her pressed against the wall, glaring at the bottle of pills on the nightstand.
Glaring at the easy way out.
Because nothing's that easy,
The tide doesn’t steal your memory,
Erase your mangled body.
A thousand tiny tablets
A thousand tiny carbamezepine dreams
Won’t wash you away.
Not completely.