Every time they bring me up to Their faces and I look into their eyes I think: this is it At last they recognize me This time
And never believe in any word, you've said. I thought it was perfect. Yes, it was! Almost, Perfect.
For those dreams Were palpable Touching the drinker of the concoction With all might.
The stitches and medical glue used to seal incisions. The swelling. The black and blue bruising surrounding my entire abdomen. It was too much for her. She said it all looked so painful.
I can now laugh at it And see how we became stupid. I might see you again, But nothing remains.
This post was inspired by the erasure concept where the powerful and popular erase the masses with silence, ignorance, poverty, and haplessness. We live in a tragicomedy we call "reality".
They dance Enraptured, singing praise, disciples and their master all, Down With their knees on the ground,
Even so I won’t go I won’t change I won’t worry I won’t regret
Drugs would have been kinder to me I might have actually died But I was addicted to you
Each submission has been carefully curated to provide both writers and readers a melancholic and grim feel as a stark contrast to February's otherwise cheery atmosphere.