November
is killing me, again
pitch black ink
whiff of a stygian crypt
off me write, again.
November
is making me write, again
same cause, same dram
but a new soul- as pure as spit, foulest-
drank all of it, again.
November
is making me drink again
milk boxes of rotten denial on my porch
you rang the bell
preyed on me, again.
November
you came gently today
but I deserve more than flakes
of your pride
masking your touch
with words of half true lies.
Oct 10, 2020
Oct 10, 2020 at 8:21 AM UTC
November
is killing me, again
pitch black ink
whiff of a stygian crypt
off me write, again.
November
is making me write, again
same cause, same dram
but a new soul- as pure as spit, foulest-
drank all of it, again.
November
is making me drink again
milk boxes of rotten denial on my porch
you rang the bell
preyed on me, again.
November
you came gently today
but I deserve more than flakes
of your pride
masking your touch
with words of half true lies.
© rekenerer
vol |last quarter perils
pulling up archives from 2017
not you, s
you were a bliss
