Monday, 2 November 2015

Mangled Grammar

tongues pressed dry
with last night’s whisky and this
erratic pendulum dictates
a poisoned taste, a touch, an empty month
wound tight and wasted

broken breaths pass for whole
and hours howl. these moments
taken, treasured, trampled
under photographs and mangled grammar
missing memories bleed pretence

hand carved details tell secret stories and senses burn
grafting old grievances
to recent wounds
shapes cut by ancient demons and painted doubts
embrace long frozen hope

and the whisky risks reason
but confessions stick and worries reverberate
from shadows overriding ambition. bitter words restore
personal hurdles and excuses emanate
from the aftertaste

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