The dogs above me
bark until I shut
them out. A metaphorical
strangulation of purity.
A weary progression
toward insanity.
Bukowski sits beside
me. Limp with the
dread of life
as I flip through his words.
I cannot find myself
because I am wearing my
lover’s socks and
praying to a god I know
does not listen.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 9:17 PM UTC
The dogs above me
bark until I shut
them out. A metaphorical
strangulation of purity.
A weary progression
toward insanity.
Bukowski sits beside
me. Limp with the
dread of life
as I flip through his words.
I cannot find myself
because I am wearing my
lover’s socks and
praying to a god I know
does not listen.
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