Glory

He whispers to the dead, inefficiently. He doesn’t hear her stand beside nor see her hollow soul peek. His heart’s optimization has vanished into spilt spirits. One more drink, just one more. ‘This treacherous world, oh how I long to escape.’ He tosses his plate against the wall and stumbles to bed. He tumbles and tosses without sleep.

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10 comments so far

  1. ThomG on

    Fast and loose with the words, but a great piece. Angst you can feel.

  2. Monda on

    Killer opening line.

  3. gautami tripathy on

    It works..

    no pawns spared

    BTW, have you stopped writing poetry?

  4. noahthegreat on

    I still write poetry. I just don’t share it. I will sometime, though.

  5. pia on

    The flow is wonderful

  6. Andy on

    Hi Noah, I liked the way you mixed the different sorts of spirits.

  7. Daily Panic on

    a lot of anguish I like it.

  8. Mendur on

    Nice imagery but I think I missed the point. I also liked the word play in it: tosses, stumbles, tumbles, tosses.

  9. MichaelO on

    Another dark vision with a smoothie!

  10. blisshappens on

    it is sad, and heavy, and makes me wonder so much about this man, his life, his ghosts. Very effective, I enjoyed it a lot. -Meg


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