Resolved:
We made this clear decision
to run nightly into crowded homes
on darkened city streets.
And our hearts were filled
with an uninspired sense of belonging.
Only to awaken in unnatural convalescence,
While peach-colored faces
blur into one;
They hover over,
watching us kneel down
clutching our stomachs,
screaming for
someone,
anyone,
to help us.
Each day we stay alone
waiting for answers to our calls;
finding a way to survive and work through our daily reticence.
We try to make everyone believe in each
disposable countenance
as a separate representative
of our vulnerability
in these nightly sick spirals
disguised as something much more simple.
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2 comments:
I like how you took the warmth alcohol brings and belonging and thrust it like vomit out of a newly empty stomach into the downward spiral of a flushing toilet bowl. I also really like your word choice - was there a meter to this poem or a form you were using?
no form. i rarely write in form or meter. it's boring to me.
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