Author Information
Hard Stuff
“Why does he drink, when the drink isn’t healing?”
Behind vertical panels she watches in a pool of ivory,
still,
thunder strikes.
He runs a thousand miles lying down,
clutching his drowning empathy and speaking in tongues.
Age takes a toll but time remains fixed.
She tries to trace a pattern, but
the lines never double up.
Waking then aching. Raging then aging.
The blurred screams of blue and red.
She constantly tries to run with him, yet
as her twinkling presence is in his hands, the courage liquefies
He drinks it up. He drinks it all up
And she curls up in the glass prison once again.
The Glass Is The Prison
Love a great power relationships write. Megaton impact. ~allets~
Sometimes
Sometimes we drink to blunt the mind and dull the eyes. Because with knowing there is pain.
~/~
Spin