Cyanide Dream

Cyanide Dream

It’s no louder then the sound of silk
Whisking through the air; ribbons.

It’s not any more painful then to slice
Another piece of this arm; exhale.

It’s not as real as anything you’ve tasted
On the slender pink tongue; ecstasy.

It’s just as eloquent as the eyes
You see every morning, noon and night; cyanide dreams