ghostly visions

the bottle had already been broken,

smashed upon a beach post 

pieces scattered, chunks and

shards lost in the sand awaiting 

the innocence of unknowing feet

I held the crooked neck of it up and

admired the art of feeling shattered

until she walked up, out of the

blurs and ghostly visions she came

had I been sober I'd have thought

I was drunk, but I was drunk already

so she was as real as anything

she sat by my side, inquisitive and

leering, inviting me into the night

there was a pause of harm, a low

intensity bend of reason that came

had I continued I'd have severed

half of myself away from decency,

but luck took my hand and we ran

a flesh wound, a strange angel

saving me from my own horrible self

(Image from allpoetry.com)