Friday 5/31/2024 11:38:00 PM

 let the fever inside. a simple thief. 

dress the corpses. in shiny suits. death is a fickle friend. 

we're only alive in so far as we can defy the end. peddlers of dirty stitches for wounds that refuse to heal. 

our fists full of nothing as we clutch the edge. monkeys in tuxedos made of clay. 

touching the sky with dirty fingernails. searching for reason in empty pages. 

chasing the rats. the lies become a religion. 

the truth is the enemy in an indifferent universe. 

the flesh is sick. an ignorant arbiter of  our limited time. 

the mind is a storybook. overrun with damsels and monsters. 

when there are no answers.. let the blood decide. 

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