Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Keyring's clinking on my cut time stride under lights, buzzing islands in the ink sea night. Slink away from my murky years,                   they're piling up and I'm hunched, walking dumb           across the hazard yellow lines. Behind me           the night just rolls up almost outruns me to my front doorstep.                                                 The hungry hills enclose                     our mid-size                     opaque town. Old partners,           forgotten crimes we did and left trails of clues, all gutshot                                        creep hunching through this skull                       beneath a                       fraying cap. Keyrings jangle like anxieties in my chest, humming static in the core of me. Sinking in to familiar tones;                   shades purple grey. And it's cold, striding slow           through the west side warehouse lots. Behind me           the teeming sidewalks shout half-slurred spears at my back retreating.                                                 The half-light spills itself                     on wrinkled,                     trenching brows. And out there           the night just rolls up to darken the mat by your front doorstep.                                                 You're just a single thought                     and several                     miles away.
0
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Huncher
Keyring's clinking on my cut time stride under lights, buzzing islands in the ink sea night. Slink away from my murky years,                   they're piling up and I'm hunched, walking dumb           across the hazard yellow lines. Behind me           the night just rolls up almost outruns me to my front doorstep.                                                 The hungry hills enclose                     our mid-size                     opaque town. Old partners,           forgotten crimes we did and left trails of clues, all gutshot                                        creep hunching through this skull                       beneath a                       fraying cap. Keyrings jangle like anxieties in my chest, humming static in the core of me. Sinking in to familiar tones;                   shades purple grey. And it's cold, striding slow           through the west side warehouse lots. Behind me           the teeming sidewalks shout half-slurred spears at my back retreating.                                                 The half-light spills itself                     on wrinkled,                     trenching brows. And out there           the night just rolls up to darken the mat by your front doorstep.                                                 You're just a single thought                     and several                     miles away.
kyle-kulseth
Written by
M/American
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem