Broken Circles

always the beginning -- what matters the most.
I rarely reach an ending.

the bottle makes sure of it.

when someone new enters my life, there're always
grand dreams for the future that is to come.

the sun always sets, midnight reigns,

crawling through a sea of glass to the toilet, to empty
my black intestines.

the beginning lasts forever, the ending remains unseen.
every bottle another chapter, every spike a potential final dot.

the story remains static, trapped in the eye of the storm,
no going back, let alone forth. the new becomes

old, mingles
with the rest.

a hollow trajectory followed sacrilegiously; old kisses
become new embraces and vice versa.