Blood-stained bench seats

Try to sing a song of control
Though our ultimate goal
Is to run away.
This road could lead to the end
Spelling secret revenge
If I could just stay awake.

The only words I’ve ever come to find
Are a curse at life the penultimate fine.
Drift away before the A-bomb blows.
Huddle inside your happy place,
Give up your only semblance of grace,
Double helix secrets shed from your veins.

But no, there’s no going back
Too much work to unpack
What I need to survive.
But still, it won’t be enough. . .
I must have died at some point
Along the road.



Filed under poem, poetry

2 responses to “Blood-stained bench seats

  1. Absolutely love this

    Liked by 1 person

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