Ducks In A Row

Counting seventy-eight pale blue pills,
forty-three white ones-
Lined neatly in a row
along side of pea green bath;
Now to chug back this cheap bourbon,
Man, I should have
splurged on the good stuff.
Won't need money
where I am headed.

I decide to fill the moldy tub,
in hopes of slipping silently away;
Filth lingers on the tub,
fitting for a lost,
tarnished soul like mine;
I've lived my life this way,
I deserve to go out in the same disgrace.

With trembling hands
I reach for more pills,
and tawdry booze-
Death is taking her sweet old time,
release me from this pain;
Thoughts of my murdering past
still chase this doped mind,
Without my demise,
no one is safe;
I will kill until they stop me.

Evil has always
been my shadow,
Blood is my earthly high,
a drug I crave and chase;
I hear the cries of wailing victims
pleading for their pathetic lives,
Now with my ducks in a row,
silence will soon be forever.

by Robin Bennett

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