Keyboard Desire

I want pills, no chasers. I crave
The sight of the bottom of my nose
In a mirror cut up by white lines.  
People say they are suicidal,
I say show don’t tell.
I test death to taste it.
I take a sip and savor it.
I want those glass table girls.
When they look at me,
I see death taunting me.
I watch them dance in hell.  
They move without worry.
They know they are going
Nowhere and don’t care.
They are expendable, replaceable,
And they don’t ask too many questions.
They make me worse and I love them for it.