She drank the message I left in her bottle.
Ill health always at full throttle.
There was never a moment in which she could see,
the current in the ocean that she was causing.
The towers above her mirrored windows of opportunity.
The reflections in the glass were far too daunting.
Wouldn’t it be easier to drink the stars away?
Reel in the dead fish; they make easier prey.
YOU ARE READING
Down This Path
PoetryThis selection of poems were written during a series of events that would then unfold into a turning point within my own life. Tragic circumstances muddled by poor judgement and a taste for adventure turned into what I thought was a glorious success...
