Into the Mirth

It's dark enough. To see. The bottom of the moat. The paper dolls bleeding out their ink. Into the mouths of crocodiles. It's dark enough. To admit light is what we imagine it to be. The orange on the tip of my tongue as the pill tsunamied. Little worlds under giant microscopes appearing real. Perfect ant farms. Tunnelling through patterns of sand. Unaware of the darkness that is larger than their gods.

One voice at a time. The top of the castle. Cloyed in verses I could once understand. The indifferent metaphors of naked poets. Drunk on more than just alcohol. Content with failure.

It's dark enough. It's moons without a sun to light them. It's skin fermented sharp enough to bite us back. It's the hollow promise of every encounter. Like vinegar. Too sour to swallow.

It's dark enough without you. Why make it darker.