Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2020
Every few hours
I convince myself
all the edges are
sinking
and the air's gone
rotten.

Until the next corner
where some crooked smile
stabs me sober.
Written by
Ryan Dement  34/I'm right here.
(34/I'm right here.)   
39
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems