423 submissions
Still today...how can that be
Category Poetry / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 50 x 50px
File Size 619 B
I can't tell you. Think Darth Sidious, lightning crackling forth. Sobriety is there if you will it, yet you have to choose.
Mr. Fox would bark yes. The blasted echo would ask this: can you live without it? I can't. Can you? Does the hurt overwhelm to the point where without it you'd face oblivion or is it just for fun?
Mr. Fox would bark yes. The blasted echo would ask this: can you live without it? I can't. Can you? Does the hurt overwhelm to the point where without it you'd face oblivion or is it just for fun?
The acrid smell of crack cooking in burnt spoons, dead iguanas, bars on windows and ceramic clowns. The airless hush the world endures before the hit of a hurricane. It's like biting down on steel, a hardness that hurts and doesn't yield. So yes.
It's a bitch. I see her face every day. If I'm not drunk or asleep I'm not okay.
It's a bitch. I see her face every day. If I'm not drunk or asleep I'm not okay.
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