Poison

I sip the poison, not under false pretenses,
but the curiosity of its colors allure my taste buds,
fooling me in belief that happiness is liquid.
Like a metallic glass of water, its jagged edges
cut my throat, mixing blood and toxins
while my body slowly weakens.
I drink it to drench my system,
coat my stomach in hopes that it will quench me,
and make me invincible, a superhero; it fails.
Foam overflowing from my mouth,
a visual cry of irregularity and despair,
are shadowed by my own desires to continue drinking.
It pierces its silver daggers through my heart
and spills green and black ooze
masquerading as my blood.
I douse my throat with the venom,
deepening its destruction, creating a black hole,
leaving me an empty shell of who I was, leaving me
fragile, empty and numb.