Wednesday 3/01/2023 11:09:00 PM

 the door was silent as it pushed us through.  all inhales and next times. 

the distance a jagged blade. 

we're souvenirs after all . flecks of glitter on the skin of change. 

ugly scars in beds where we no longer sleep. 

they're empty bottles. softly sinking below the surface of our ache. 

we're humble thieves. stealing time from failing machines. 

torn maps in the pockets of strangers. 

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