The Tainted Passenger

Pour whiskey over my open heart,

As it bleeds out

Like a runny yolk-

Sunny side up.

Truth be told I fathom it not.

A day where it won't hurt,

Where I can bathe,

Not be the caretaker.

Yet this is the price I pay,

The costly ticket,

To be loved.

Do I know love, does he?

So in my darkest hour,

I wonder what it means.

Do I bask in the sting,

In the taste of the whiskey?

Or should I bask in he who pours,

And pray it shuts.

Human consciousness bears love,

In the most unreliably narrated way.