Thursday 1/19/2023 11:34:00 PM

the cold soil remembered where we'd trod. an ugly map of all the places we'd destroyed. 

the gentle wolves would wait to hunt. until after the sun would set. but the lambs. the lambs were vicious. 

we turned. every corner a new treason. we shouted. truths that hardly knew us. paper dolls dancing with scissors. 

the choices always found us. so many wishes drowned in that well. 

we were wrong when we assumed there must be something between the beginning and the end. 

time swallowed our parachutes. we jumped all the same. 

we stubbornly scattered our breadcrumbs. as if we could ever go back again.

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