Walking At Three AM
I have fallen prey
in this hour of the night wolf,
fallen to the teeth
and hot breath of all
the ghosts of my dimming life.
The swirl of things near
my head and cracked heart
point with dead fingers at me
and at the leaking
of my living blood.
They declare me a sad mess,
and I believe them.
March 8, 2010 9:42 AM
Here's hoping you can stay asleep rather than step out the door.
This poem is wonderful, and haunting, and dark. I love it. Beautifully written.
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