Another mouldy string
in your intricate web
of lies gives way,
the remainder straining
to bear your weight and
the sticky mess unlikely
to cushion your fall from grace.
He wraps himself in buzzwords like resilience and hustle, but I have to wonder if they bring comfort to an empty life.
Spices explode across my tongue, melding with the warm flush of alcohol… A long exhale, eyes at half mast, head tilted in a relaxed lean. And…
Twelve birds perched on the power line, twittering over news that used to be secrets, teetering on the edge of gossip and scandal.