Friday 8/16/2019 11:07:00 PM

we spent our skin. useless pennies we'd rather discard. we took our turns on the trigger. mollified by bullets and blood.

we ran. tugging on the distance. as the thread slowly came undone. we marvelled as the seams split. and what was inside spilled into focus.

weak is what we were. strong is what we are. dragging those skeletons behind us. until the muscle is replenished.

we take the bridges. as they take us. it's not the height. it's the void underneath our steps. the cold medicine of time. as it chafes against our blood. tying its knots in our memory. telling its stories in the margins of our flesh.

we run. but it's never far enough.

1 comments:
Andu Mela said...

Hi Alcoholic poet. I am Andinet. I have been reading your blog for some time now. I find it fascinating and enlightening. good poems and your alcoholic style is marvels. It has a Bohemian trend ... sort of. I love it. keep the good work.



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