Content Warning: The following series depicts scenes involving death, alcohol, and other potentially triggering text and imagery.
“Death to College Culture”
A mystery and a crime
as red as bloody hands, puffy eyes
in your glass of wine —
a premonition.
“From Heaven here came a marvelous flood; three days it rained blood.”
Numb.
A tingling in my mind,
a hint of the smell of the coming death in the heir
of the family fortune.
Holes in her liver,
detoxed by Fire[ball], and 151, and some flavor of liquid panties.
Death to the sorority girl from 3-B, who only wanted those sweet basket freebies.
Numb.
Your Man-Crush-Monday is passed out in a snowbank
Fingers failing,
freezing,
frostbitten.
His phone's not far away
“Answer the call from your brother, Piazza.”
“Oh, it’s your mom.”
Death to the frat pledge, trying to get his name enframed within the walls of the house.
(I’m sure it’s there somewhere, probably followed by a sign saying “His time came too soon.”)
Numb.
A bell in the distance. Muffled by the cold, wet air.
His fingers dipped not in ink, but despair.
and Vodka-Sprite. That’s there too.
Spoon-fed to undergraduates as an entrance exam,
(as though they’re immune to addiction)
The sweetness barely escaping their lips,
before it’s echoing in their mind,
stinging a million times.
(It’s really Crowd Paralysis, of a kind.)
Death to the student body, who truly believe that this is how you live.
