Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

There in the living room I sat, with my companions

-surrounding me.

We’ve cried together, laughed complementarily.

They are my family without my blood, a covenantal tribe, and my

-beloved.

They grabbed a tube and eyed me with vicious

nothingness.
I watched them before me; they pushed me back.

I let them, but why,

I don’t know.

They put the tube into my

mouth

wreaking determined suavity; each revealed a handle of liquor.

I, unable to resist their icy possession,

felt the deep burning in my

throat.                                                                   

I felt it slide into my stomach, ripping my nerves like a skillet ablaze out the furnace.

I felt myself burn away, forgetting how to breathe, thoroughly intoxicated.

I was about to meet mine

-oblivion.

They saw the task nearly fulfilled, never having broken their

gaze.

They embraced me with loving arms as I continued my descent.

I watched the world slip away, my breath likewise slipping into the nonextant.

Affection of theirs

-surrounding me,

as I became no more.

Art by Oetsuru