Sunday, December 19, 2004

The Bitter Drink

On the sofa, the grease stains were like a coat of yellow vinyl.
Bitter eyes greet the prospect of sightlessness.
He granted her one last picture in the form of ice.
In pools of red, thick juice, the frenzied pair pressed and rubbed into burning oil.
Ice scratched the bare wool away and left ash in the smokeless hallway.
They wandered into poisoned throats, spilling into them spice.
The air burns, it thickens and chokes hope.
Needles and sores cover flesh like a field of grass.
Spider-like limbs bent her around the road to get there faster.
They mangled in murky malaise toward a swampy death in one-another's arms.
Compulsive and desperate wishes cry for closure.
Enraptured and engorged en-route behind a truckload of misery,
they ended in massacre.
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