I’m at the top of my game
she said
writing a few good
poems a day
completing my second novel
I’m published in all the best
journals you know?
I poured another drink
looked at her face her hands
they were almost perfect
no scars no sign of life
death had not touched
her beauty…
Clay.M

His hands were warm,
But he was dead inside.

Powdered Dreams
And Pill-Shape hope
A Needle’s Kiss
A false escape

But soon it fades
The pain returns
The truth unfolds

Left alone
With sweaty hands
Chasing deceitful comfort
That slips like sand

Renewal is wanted
A path to heal,
To break these chains
And to once again feel.