Sad Labels:
dark poetry
,
sad poetry
the staircase ached as we climbed to the top. thieves with empty coffers.
the wolves all too patient.
the arithmetic wept. a blanket of skin and desperate liars. ripe fruit. bruised by the harvest.
silent with someday's fickle scorn.
the needle stammered. choked by the weight of its medicine.
our torn maps not withstanding.
truth came in heavy doses. a blunt narcotic. seducing us with its shattered mirrors.
soiled pillows still ripe with regret.
sometimes what is broken is best left in pieces.
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