ask truth her name. she'll reply with a wink. purse her lips and say. she doesn't have one. all our twinkling lights. and nervous crescendos cannot persuade her. stab the key into the lock. though it fits, still that door doesn't open. gather your tears. arrange and count every drop. leveraging your fear like paper in the sun.
ask the truth her name. she'll spread her legs and laugh. we're fucked either way. all our trembling staircases leading us nowhere. we're strays in world that has no memory. fidgeting in our soiled pants. waiting on imaginary gods to wipe our asses.
Copyright 2005-2016 by alcoholic poet.
