Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

There is always those days.
The air seems different,

the sky dark and overcast,
the smell of bodies lingers

close by, seemingly dying.
Bodie said there would be

days like that; those kind of
days when you don’t want to

get out of bed, don’t want to
talk, don’t want to see sunlight

creep through the shutters.
She wanted things differently;

wanted them as she thought
they’d be as a child. Bodie said

childhood is a falsehood, a time
of outgrowing things, going far

beyond the lies and blinkered past.
He introduced her to the syringe

and promise; brought her to those
dark days with the spin of his tongue.

Mother would turn in her grave
if she knew such. Bodie talks over

her thoughts; his words weigh her
down, let her into the other world,

where all is fucks and shoot ups
and the long fall remembering the

soft words her mother used to call.

I've lost some friends to Brodie and lost some friends who became Brodie.

Heartbreaking! Love how you evolved this poem, hate where it went....a slice of life that is the sucking sound of the great cosmic drain.

Thanks, Terry. You have a gift.

~A

Thank you, Anna.

dadio, your gifts are our gifts and i thank you

what i don't like about this piece is that it's so seductive, tempting, very tempting

Thank you, Judih.