Photo Stuart Bryce

Body Language

The alarm screeches its early morning song,
coffee stains meant with burnt morning toast
smeared with butter and pursuant dreams
the economic battle scars, the safe haven toxicity
comes to blows to dodge broken-down dreams
which now litter the floor with broke-ass glass.

She gives her love away too easily,
makes you questions the love you received;
wine mood memories heave fresh puke splatter to the floor which doubles as the night’s bed.
The silhouette of skin glistens in the moonlight, stillness… weeps heard no more, the darkness of the years yearns for sunlight brightness relief from past scorn, silently
begging for release from the emotional storm
powering every word.

A sweet relief fills the weed-infused air, pen driven moments electrify the spring-dampened night, sleep tight,
unconscious language left to yet another restless night
as body language wrestles for a spot in yet another sold out fight.

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