scum bag

 
vodka tears stain my face
the flowers in the garden
all look away
as I cry in my drink at noon
 
the sun refuses to shine its light
on the darkness, I cling to
cockroaches scurry in the sores
of festering memories
and the rats eat at me
gnawing on my guilt
 
a tweaker moon
is full in all its glory
it's going to be a long night
 
self-hate blooms in the flowerbeds
of my emotions
they are ugly little grey buds
that mouth off
telling me what a scum bag I am
but right now I don't care
 
I'll bury it all in the graveyard of denial
without a tombstone
so no one knows  
just how many corpses are out there