Thursday 5/23/2013 12:42:00 AM

ten voices. one eye. the harmony of madness dances barefoot on the metling ice. sapplings and thieves paint the forest red. no days. only lingering nights. with more words than voice.

the history of skin is written in sweat and scars. the story of everything we were. are. might become. these plastic time machines break and bend. as we struggle to find what was always there.

life spills in. a drizzling rain seeping through the cracks. too shallow to drown us. too deep to allow for an escape.

dirty corners. steal their faces from sleeping gods. she chases the words. a feeble hunter threatening with broken arrows. the sickness that once made her strong now all knots and stones. Heavy ropes find the room where all those empty boxes still wait. for gravity to remember. how far.

2 comments:
Kim E Williams said...

I'm pretty sure i died a few times while reading this... it was a beautiful death.

alcoholic poet said...

wow. that's quite a complement. thank you for sharing it.



| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2016. All Rights Reserved.