Washing the Poison

It was a toxic needle, its slim neck slipping into my vein
depositing a site of green slime of envy, the red blood of heartbreak,
the silver thread of lust. Spread like dust scattered from an old
chest sitting in a basement, growing like running water
over a Chia pet. Pumped through blood, water in a balloon,
ready to burst, pressure building, a hose turning on.

Exploded, the sparks from a set of colorful fireworks,
at first leaving a trace of snail like snot, but then an ember
in the fireplace, disappearing, smoked out, a gray cloud rising
from a bonfire. Wind, picking it up like a cloud of fog, rolling away,
a ball down a hill, the pelting of a summer rain, washing away,
soap dripping off a car, poison gone, a NASCAR car gone from the track.