The Strand
Breath grazes the edge of her skin
and pulls so gently inwards.
Prays,
no,no,no.
Last forever.
A clock ticks towards the end,
unforgiving to the lost minutes.
Prays,
no,no,no.
Last forever.
I went crazy searching between faces
and hands.
Numbers don't tell the story
half as well as pain.
Still I pray,
no,no,no.
Last forever.
Not sure about this. Feedback, anyone?
Sorrow and fear is the same thing in a shot glass.
All I ever asked was for the bile to be withdrawn,
the wind to change and throw it back into your mottled face.
All I ever wished for was the door to close,
So you could laugh upon your empire of bottles.
Empty.
Brain dead from the lie my eyelids are full of ash
that blows from every cigarette tale and lunatic word.
I tell you to “hush” as gentle as the rain before a hurricane,
but all you do is laugh, throw your head back
And drown.
She can’t bring herself to glimpse at her reflection, in fear of
(Hating?)
loathing what she sees.
It’s all a matter of waiting,
waiting for themto rip out a yellowed liver and say,
"This one was destined to be trapped,
trapped in the empty recesses of a broken shot glass.”
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