But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
i feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought
with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. i wish i had
a joint. a big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. but no, all i
can do is lie here, brain
turning summersaults.
it’s nights
these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
the night he came to
me, crossed
the final line.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 11:33 PM UTC
But find no comfort
in its feathers and patchwork.
despite the wine and rich
food, breaking down into calories,
i feel cold, way deep inside,
and it’s the kind of cold
that can’t be fought
with Hollandaise or alcohol
or a pile of quilts. i wish i had
a joint. a big, fat, stinky j to slide
me into sleep. but no, all i
can do is lie here, brain
turning summersaults.
it’s nights
these when memories
stir, whipping themselves
into stiff peaks of pain. here
comes one now, materializing
like Daddy did that night.
the night he came to
me, crossed
the final line.