Monday 4/05/2021 11:51:00 PM

 the yellow sun strikes its hammers under my skin. the subtle music of life resonating softly. fragile butterfly wings defiant against the fury of the wind. 

we're hunters. our only weapon our wits. we're charlatans. our only truth the lies that we believe in. 

we search for the soul. assigning depth where none exists. we create the fairy tales that sooth our panic. we're stranded in a forest full of imaginary candy houses. 

the miles chase us even as we chase them. the sublime puzzles of emotion erupting like volcanoes in our heads. 

i am who i am from having forgotten who i was. the pieces melting like ice cubes in empty glasses. 

the monsters in their cages are still grabbing for the key. the cages between us are still the only thing i trust. 

time draw its own maps. while we struggle against where they're taking us. 

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