Out, then drag.
The rolled paper reeks.
Borrowing my thoughts
as it sits between my teeth.
Out, then drag.
Funnel the liquid in.
You know it's getting bad
when ten am means gin.
Out, then drag.
Gasping for some air.
Must steel myself for another fist
with a face that doesn't care.
Out, then drag.
My outstretched hand retreats.
Another plea for help rejected
because I live the streets.
----Ten years Later----
Out, then drag.
The oars complain with creaks.
I sit without my toxic friends
and finally I breathe.
YOU ARE READING
Polygon
PuisiA compilation of poems from the everyday; delivered by a short girl who just can't stand it. Enjoy. Or don't. Feel free to strike up a conversation if there's something you want to discuss. I update once a week so add to your library to keep updated...
