Choking

Spinning out on my own bloody rubbish,
Jumping at the reflections,
Peaking from beneath the table,
Sniffing for the presence of creatures like me.

There's a room at the back where I keep them
Caught. Gnashing and leering,
Jumping, dodging on their hind quarters,
And leaving traces in condensation upon the glass.

Filthy with intoxication, sweating words like
Jaundiced eyes yellow with bile
And delivered slow; careful spears
In defense against this saline tide of mad.