Darkening
A proof in the pudding, lost in time. Broken, lapsed, derisive at last.
Even if we take it all, there'd be hell to pay and the day would dim… we'd lose love to sin.
And how you hate the words that talk from lips, old sips of bourbon but it's poisonous.
Dip and drop and talk yourself to death, what's left? The last beating heart and decrepit heft you try to wield.
And you feel just fine…










