Your stained life came to fruition,
that frustrated lament
like the wind whistling down a chimney,
you still held your parched desires
to be awaken brick by brick
your opaque eyes mused
a lost rusted recoil
from where your head used to turn,
down gullies and cul de sacs
until you ran out of retreats,
a pied-à-terre of disrepute
like a dreg sipping sloe gin
your nostrils flaring in the void
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 3:58 PM UTC
Your stained life came to fruition,
that frustrated lament
like the wind whistling down a chimney,
you still held your parched desires
to be awaken brick by brick
your opaque eyes mused
a lost rusted recoil
from where your head used to turn,
down gullies and cul de sacs
until you ran out of retreats,
a pied-à-terre of disrepute
like a dreg sipping sloe gin
your nostrils flaring in the void
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