Sunday 9/17/2017 02:59:00 AM

the wounds closed. flesh grew over the bandages. yellow skin and purple bruises counting backward from our edges.

we were spent. the cold arithmetic of anticipation. deep cuts wearing our blood on the outside.

the hunble of disease. fickle gods gambling in the dichotomy of our loyalties.

inside the hurricane rages. while the center remains motionless.

faded colors reveal us in small eruptions of want. the road chokes on our progress. as hungry as it is long. we're passengers in our skin.

there's only the distance. a broken mirror. surrounding us on all sides. a thousand jagged pieces desperate for connection.

all the random shadows. as the sky tumbles inside us. all our choices. like wet cement. destroying the illusion. that we're going somewhere.



0 comments:


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