A Hundred Nights Later
whiskey bottles
on a row
an empty ash trey
never smoked, though
my drug's
my worries
I'm addicted to
the invisible scars
I cannot hide
soft jazz
and alcohol
now chains
me gently to
this sofa
bitter sweetness
soaks me through
this cob-webbed ceiling
watched me perish
but
I'm rehabilitating
there's
piano. violin
a hoarse voice singing
softening
my thoughts
my fears
a melancholy warmth
I started dream
some while ago.
Poetry by Corvus
Read 644 times
Written on 2006-06-28 at 19:08
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