Bottom Of Bottles

After yesterday, the pool just expanded; drank up the solid air, and spat out a liquid detritus,

swilling her discoloured face about the pale ivory horseshoe of hair that exhaled crimson in streaks.

It's 5:02 am, I don't give a damn about sentiment.

It choked up on the drunken squalor, the excretion of verbs and pronounceations drawled.


Upon the star light, I retched a scrag, tucked it away in a napkin. Shoved it out of sight.


Piece by piece, we fell away, the decay set in and then she blamed the trite neck of chance,

by night, or day.


Piece by piece, we fell away.


I am so far away from sanity, her tongue nestled in my mouth, like a drab rainbow, settled away...

Tasteless, a crab dragged through dirt the cancer that my air coughed on.


I will say something more, and say something less. I will ditch the sea and sand for a bottle,

a solitary bottle, with a message inside. A message that reads


"Today was the last day of the rest of your life."

The End

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