The throat accepts the copper line,
the fire of the grain distilled too thin,
a solvent meant to scour and define
the hollow where the fever rushes in.
It promised swift eclipse, a velvet dark,
a severance from name and ticking debt,
but the body is too stubborn for the mark,
it tracks the current back to where it’s met.
The fluid seeks escape, a furious tide;
it does not honor gravity or grace.
The path of ease is fiercely set aside
to chart the helix of the ruined place.
For what is poured in reckless, thirsty rush
must find the equal, mirrored consequence—
the reckoning that breaks upon the hush
of dawn, a vulgar, liquid violence.
The bitter sacrament is taken twice:
once as an offering to the mind’s defeat,
and then again, delivered without price,
a molten judgement from the lowest seat.
It is the river that knows only flow,
a fierce metabolism of the shame,
the spirit broken down to burning slow,
baptized in cheap ethanol and flame.
This is the cycle of the deep embrace:
the input and the output, clean defined.
A ritual where pleasure marks the base,
and leaves the vessel utterly unlined.
The poison taken, and the poison paid;
the liquor running, forward and rearward bound—
a messy contract willfully obeyed,
upon the altar of the turning ground.
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Author:
Friendship (
Offline) - Published: December 7th, 2025 07:36
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 3
Offline)
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