goddammit

She is her own
Great opium den
Passing vials of child
And the first ever notion
Of what life would be like
Without the idea of loss,
Of cancer, of the assumption
Of everything until now
When you're giving up and hoping
For a quick end.
The bank I washed
Up on to my arms clung
With the denial
Of every path I have
Taken - each road delivering
Some hut of this -
If I could get no more.