slow
quiet
alone.
The last two weeks
a lot of those
drifting
shifting
energy to ennui.
A tentacled darkness
welcomes me.
This City
grinds my bones.
This is the dip
after the plateau
after the upward arc.
This is
the is
we all get.
I need to spit
venom.
I need to name this.
Sometimes, I wish that a kiss
would cure me
but magic is
not that simple.
1 comment:
I am going to get these last four lines tattooed across my chest.
Post a Comment