via Daily Prompt

I can hear it all ticking and flowing back to me
as if in the quiet moments it was lost

and now
with each puff
and every swig
the burn on the soft palette that I know scars permanently,
like an invisible tattoo that I trace silently with the tip of my tongue,
and the fire in the intestines
that rips through blood as if it were an obnoxious fly crashing into blue light;

and the stillness brings the flood
ticking and ticking and ticking
bringing with it:
final breaths,
first breaths,
endless cups of coffee,
so many fingernail clippings,
fleeting kisses,
closed doors,
opened doors,
hugs lingering for too long,
looks lingering for too long,
shared milkshakes,
health kicks,
New Year Resolutions,
discarded soap boxes,
snuffed out cigarettes,


And as the soft palette burns and the
intestines scream through acid and electricity
the mind pushes on,
the soul pushes on,
searching for something:

(or some other bullshit)

and nothing escapes this pattern
this cyclical agenda

count down the hours until it all begins again.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s