Sad Poems : Alcoholic Poet: Winter's Confessions Sad Poetry.

Alcoholic Poet. Poetry Equals Distance Over Time.

Distance Over Time
Tuesday 3/08/2022 11:31:00 PM

 it was cold still, though it shouldn't have been. we stood in the grin of our deepening impotence. Our claws dull and bloody. Our fangs still aching from the kill. 

it was dark, but i could still see our footprints. how far we'd run. 

we were weak, but undeterred. 

it was quiet, even as we screamed. devoured by the fury of touch. a frenzy of broken atoms erupting in an apocalypse of despair. 

it was distant still, even as i approached it. everything and nothing. the terminal paradox of trust. 

that what breaks us make us strong. 

it was cold still, even as we struck the sun.

we were alive, but only barely. still drowning in the eternal lie of humanity. that we know who we are. 


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