Wednesday 10/21/2015 01:52:00 AM

she chafed at the idea of the world. that it could go on without her. a carnival of bodies. a circus of cuts and bruises. raging against the science of fading temptations. everything paper skeletons swimming in buckets of ink.

there in the enormity of the silence she pretended to shout. at cracked bowls and dirty forks. the vague nourishment of despair. the wasted canvas that wears her like confetti. the math taut and feral. the absolute surrender that's always in relentless pursuit.

the hollow cries of broken beasts.

the road like licorice. sweet and dark and bitter. the distance tries her on, but she doesn't fit. she dances in her calm panic. she sleeps in her hysterical war. steeping herself in the rich marrow of her apathy.  frantically bargaining with what remains of who we are.

she spins in place. convinced of her progress. the distance aching out loud. deflated antagonists. spent sympathies.

it had always been the end ever since she could remember. small twigs embracing the abyss. the loose arithmetic of strangers and thieves.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.