I drown my lust to sleep in the abyss of another's mouth. I grow drunk on the erratic floods of merlot. I stagger down the empty street in the middle of the night, feeling the need of voids.
I get in my car and drive in boxy silence to the cemetery in my mind. I bury my old criteria with lateral movements. One spade at a time.
I have no tears to carve the dust and sweat from my face. The songs of the dead are being replaced by a stronger more strident singer. The song of a chain gang, with shackles and sledges keeping time.
9:18 p.m. - 2014-08-10
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