Poems by Coral Leffew

Like a fuzzy new kitten you light up my day,
I've always wondered how you could make me feel this way,
Like an Eskimo kiss on a sun burnt nose,
It makes me wiggle my feet and curl my toes,
The way you light up every darkened sky,
The warmth in your palms and that twinkle in your eye,
Like a new born baby screaming for it's mom,
Without you, I couldn't make it on my own,
It's true I owe my happiness to you,
Swimming in the waterfall of your arms,
Backed up in a pillow safe from other's harm,
Like a window we can't seem to get closed,
A kiss trickles down from my head to my toes,
Just as a river keeps swaying away,
I keep my rhythm in my own way,
Like the feeling when you pick me a rose,
I don't feel it in my hand, I feel it in my toes.

We can bead these seashells together,
Hoping this monofilament is enough of a tether,
To keep them from shattering all over the sky,
These clouds in the ocean form waves in my eye,

Because rain does not trouble the drowning man,
A cut on the foot has never bothered the hand,
Storming to the east no longer bothers the west,
Losing's not a problem to those who are best.

And when we lose ourselves in the bleeding sun,
No one will notice when we duck out tails and run,
Because our shadows are the only thing darker then us,
Every rose has a thorn, every nail has it's rust,
Every mannequin has plastic, every mold has it's bust,

Because rain does not trouble the drowning man,
A cut on the foot has never bothered the hand,
Storming to the east no longer bothers the west,
Losing's not a problem to those who are best.

Rain doesn't trouble me,
My irritations are no more,
Then this ninty-nine cent dinner,
Then your two-dollar whore.

Because rain does not trouble the drowning man,
A cut on the foot has never bothered the hand,
Storming to the east no longer bothers the west,
Losing's not a problem to those who are best.

It sits on the razor's edge,
A tear, crimson within itself.
I sit there, constantly reminded of you.
This was our thing,
To be sullen and sleep together,
To be nothing but vomit and meth,

Saturating in this sunlight,
A vibrant relief for the fatigue that overdose brings.
You're getting clean, but I never will.
I've come to terms that I am nothing but lies.
I've come to terms with the tears
That come screaming out of my eyes
When I hold that needle to my veins.

Now I walk down the road,
Holding only myself as I remember it was once you.
You're in rehab, I hope.
I hope getting clean was worth losing me.
I hope you're happy living while I sit here and die,
Bit by bit as I pick at my arms
And light up every chance I get.

Two years ago I didn't know what weed was,
Much less chew and blow.
Yet here I am with a rolled up ten and a mirror.
I push the coke off and stare into my eyes.
Well, if you can call dark sockets eyes.
I scream at myself for being so stupid.
I break my needle and I throw the mirror.
The shatters sparkle as they fall to the floor like snow or sparkles.

I don't want to be clean, I just want more and more.
I don't care who I have to steal from or beat up.
I just want another line or another bowl.
I just want another day I don't throw up or cry.
I'm sick of standing in a puddle of bloody vomit soaked into my carpet.
No, I don't want to be clean, I want to more.
I want to take a shower and think,
I want to take a shower and let the stench of dope rush off with the water.
If it doesn't come off, I'll cut it out of my blood,
And let it sit on the edge of the razor.