Wednesday, January 13, 2016

Mark of the silhoutte

The silhouette burned through my shadow.
Darkness darker than my own.
Ash kisses hissed across the scars of my brain
While hysteria stains streak the glass of my inner eye.

Hollow steps echo behind my ribs
They’re either tap dancing
Or dancing a cheeky jig.

Meanwhile, sweet nothings dance on a pole
They strip of their sweetness
Leaving nothing much at all
And emptying the wallet of pleasant thoughts.

Musings meander between breaths
Flicking at lungs
And turning to tighten my vocal vise.

Regret is not a bitch
But a hooker.
She charges for every time you bed her
Leaving you spent and broken
And confidently smiling
Sure that you’ll return.

Ahead the road mocks by stretching into forever
Guess I’ll have to walk.

Meanwhile, roses hold up construction signs
Reduce speed
Take the right lane
And smell.
It’s the law.

A good time fugitive,
I suck on the bitter lozenge of recollection
Stick my thumb out for a ride
And save another finger
For another time
And another dance with anger.

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