He sits alone
sticky fingers grasping the bottle
warming his stomach
and pickling his brain
It's almost empty
there
acid clears the body
His thoughts are flitting
weaving in and out of memory
too
turbulent
his heart is madness
always was
He takes it out on us
I know
for I have never wronged him
and when I do
he kills me.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:39 AM UTC
He sits alone
sticky fingers grasping the bottle
warming his stomach
and pickling his brain
It's almost empty
there
acid clears the body
His thoughts are flitting
weaving in and out of memory
too
turbulent
his heart is madness
always was
He takes it out on us
I know
for I have never wronged him
and when I do
he kills me.
