liquid brines

Abora

7/6/18 2:17AM

 

since i keep buying alcohol i keep getting drunk

it seems like the money burns a hole in my pocket like a molotov and whenever i throw it i tend to drink in all the flame

most of my free time is spent chasing the electrical impulses out of my brain

it’d be sad if there was anything worth an archive or two in there

in greater meadows where the fireflies pulse i felt the dead ends of my brain trying to make my heart beat

and sometimes physical exertion makes it pump

but most days it needs a bucket to bail out all the rancid swamp water it rots in

  • Author: Big Swifty (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: July 7th, 2018 01:27
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 12
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


Comments1

  • dusk arising

    Hey, theres wonderful wildlife in a swamp and swamps change with the seasons.
    But next spring the swamp will be just a bit different to last spring.
    And so life goes on, ever changing, sometimes very slowly, sometimes staggeringly fast. No rules are there?
    I enjoyed reading your piece today. Deep and murky.



To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.