Introspection

It’s a shuttered charm school
in here: a lot of ghosts learned
in the arts of restraint and poise,
but not much that’s still alive.

All I can taste is smoke
from the butt-end
of a burned heart.
It’s all I can do to stay inside.

If the door I used to come in
is still clear and still leads back
to clean air, I can’t see it.
I should have left a trail.

As it is, I’m stuck here, I guess,
learning to make sense of this;
drinking poison with my pinky raised,
choking on it with my lips sealed.

It’s all I can do to stay inside.
The whole damn place is still alive.
I should have left a trail; better still,
I should have left this sealed.