poison in my glass

investigate into these waters…
it is blue, red and clear on good
days; but good days run low like
toilet paper on the market shelves
and all i’m asking is you take a look
because the water seems not from any
spring or lake i know whose color
sometimes mime faint Tang or Jaritos.
no, this liquid mimics sangria i don’t
want to imbibe for the first time.
the tint arouses suspicion and still
insist it is all fresh from tap.
when yesterday’s pipes have been
gurgling blood and each sanguine drop
fills my mouth… the pain is worth a
scream, but you refuse to hear and i’ve
gone for days without a drink; by now,
thirst taunts me, but what can i do
when there is no alternative but
the orange poison in my glass