When It's Over
tin voice pleading
magic lost
version of self on the edge of drought
fakery
like a bin of plastic fruit
maybe buy livability
maybe find the stinging centre of body
whatever floats to the top of thinking
making purchases of white stuff in half lit alleys
that peel back growth
swaddled in needing
injecting junk into the night
how to find a mate dismantled?
dark eyes eroded
that brim like black coffee to its rim
a look for something that must be had
in gibberish leaps of high
flares of addiction
that smell like an animal skinned
poisoned air of white powder
that charts the touch between us
Poem composed: April 22, 2021
Revised: April 25, 2021
Contest: Open Poetry 3
Sponsor: Charlotte Puddifoot
Copyright © Brian Sambourne | Year Posted 2021
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