Quaaludes And Nyquil Poem by Kyle Schlicher

time was the world made perfectly good sense.

way back when the menu read such as thus:

take one brown bottle of rorer 714's,

no one cares, the passing lane is empty,

take as many as needed and then more.

wash them down with the contents

of the green bottle and sit back and wait.


and the world did make perfectly good sense;


a prescription for self hallucinating dreams

of the wandering madman turning away

and the empty green bottle falling to the floor,

rolling down the darkened hallway.


soon, crashing waves of welcomed opiate likeness

as the fingers and lips grew increasingly numb

as time appeared to be standing deathly still

with each passing second seeming like a year

of the sentence handed down by yourself

the moment you opened the cookie jar.

(8-30-2015)