A Barren Landscape

by alcoholicpoet.com

"All is lost. Hope is dead." 
- Ronnie James Dio

we slouch toward our inevitable end. 

lost in our persistent paradox. perfect thieves with nothing left to steal. 

always wanting what doesn't exist. 

running through empty rivers. daring the water to return and drown us. 

dreaming in soiled beds. refusing to wake up. 

the winter makes its way slowly across our skin. in shallow cuts and lingering bruises. 

the truth slips between our thighs. and easily penetrates.

there are no names in the places where we meet. only strangers that taste like ash. 

we don't need to ask permission. 

when there's nothing left to take. 


Filed under: November 2024 Poetry