A new poem by Stacey Madden

Head Hole

I dug it with drink and danger –
Deeds I bleached and wrung like acid
In my dented head, twisted tight.

I coated it with plaster and
Painted it blood-black; a chute
Like a sewer for lapses and regrets.

The hole is cold and smooth as ice,
Dark with an echo that drones like
Dropped silence. A place with no eyes.

Ideas – good and bad – fall and fall
Forever, with no grey matter
To bite and harass like blackflies.

I lie on my side and listen
To the poison swirl down the hole,
Thankful to be numb and mortal –

For the sad gift of self-abuse,
That we may flush our sins away
And suffer alone, properly.