Thursday 4/05/2012 12:28:00 AM

small eyes stare big. broken steps down to dark cellars. the dark is shy and soft. pillars of cotton candy turned black. threads of breath tightening on her lips.

steps. in burnt soil. holes in the sand. quiet lullabies for the storms under her skin. wicked witches slither out of their dresses. bashful serpents high on their own venom.

the road narrows. but she doesn't slow down. more intent on the get away than the getting there. the pavement bends and twists. she hasn't gone far.

she pretends to hear. rain and wind and circumstance. as if the world is still there. she lies and says she can see. colors and shadows and choices. as if any of that matters. she continues to dance. as if there is still music.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2021. All Rights Reserved.