my guts are a trail of pa
ranoia for the careful traveler to tread
to death.
my vain and my pain conne
ct like a phone line and two
tired voices.
my love and my love have left me to rot
alone and to trot
alone with my pride and my lie and my head held high
in the evening sky
as it collapses upon my head.
i collapse within myself like an old house
walls upon walls can't tell the difference between feet and fingers between arms and bones i am lost and alone
and no one to call my own and no one to pull me back
from inside the ice crack.
and love is a broken bone
and i paid too greatly to keep my throne
and i do not know if these things i own
are worth my immortal soul, dear.
what are these things i fear, dear?
who are these lives i've lived, dear?
why is no body near, dear,
when i've called and called and called,
YOU ARE READING
cough on coffee leftovers
Poetrywhat the gas pipe gave was everything it had left after the car stopped running. mostly black smoke. some gasoline tears to evaporate from the ground. a faint smell of regret.
