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Seven Deadly Poems

By Madison DiMercurio All Rights Reserved ©

Poetry / Fantasy

Greed

The burning sensation

slid down his throat sluggishly.

Derek had to wince

and tell himself that the side effects

were worth the flaming liquid

rushing down his throat.

Leaving Sarah for another

night of momentary

forgetfulness

was something he’s come to

realize he’s needed more

and more

as the years passed.

It’s been a few days since

another one of Sarah’s

episodes.

Derek wasn’t sure how much more

either of them could take.

He’s considered

getting both of them admitted somewhere.

Nothing helped when tomorrow

was the anniversary of his parents death.

He took another healthy gulp.

It was easier to feel sick

and delirious on
November 16th

than have the memories striking

him like a lightning storm.

As her voice began to rise up

from the dark corners of Derek’s mind

he took another searing swig

to drown her out.

No wonder Sarah wanted to

swallow more pills again,

he thought.

Somehow he had forgotten

how close they were to her death,

how close they were to

the way Derek saved them all.

His palms itched

and he downed

the last of the alcohol.

Then asked for another.

Derek wasn’t sure of the time

But he could feel the uneasy

Gazes crawling up his back.

The bar tender even gave him

a troubled look.

Derek chose to ignore everyone

and continued to regard everything

with a blurry haze over his eyes.

He felt like he was on a fishing boat --

rocking

side to side.

Once again he finished his drink

And asked for another.

“Derek, I don’t think that’s

a great idea.

Maybe I’ll call you

a cab.

You’re going to be as sick

as the dead tomorrow.

I don’t think you can handle

a sixth.”

There was a quiet

worry in the bartender’s voice.

It pissed Derek off.

“I want more!”

Derek’s throat felt raw.

Then he became delirious.

Just what he intended

to happen

from the beginning.

“I want the memories to leave!

I want her voice to stop

whispering in my head!”

“Okay, Derek.

I’ll give you a few more

minutes.”

The bartender gave Derek

another drink.

But Derek was to far away

to determine whether

the glass held alcohol or not.

There was a corner

behind the bar

with an old phone.

The bartender knew his

soul job was to

protect his loyal

costumers.

Derek needed protection

from himself,

he has from the

very first time

he set foot inside

the bar.

The bartender

got to know the faces of

men and women like Derek.

Derek swallowed his drink

like he couldn’t live without

the burning sensation.

Then he peered down

through the condensation

on the glass

noticing that the burn

in his throat

no longer existed.

Oh what the hell,

Derek thought.

Maybe that’s a good sign.

He’ll be able to

survive tomorrows

date –

November 16th.

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