Anam Cara
The mirror cracks when my eyes reflect the person in the room
waged battles between sinners and saints
rage behind dark amber gates
always roaring
like starved lions
quietly pacing cages
awaiting the day the bars might bend
she's always boiling
threatening to spill over
destroying whatever still lays on the counter
dotted with yellowing photographs
of smiles that no longer grace those faces
notes echo words
that never had the chance to be spoken
stale cigarettes lie there
still smudged with colors from long lost lips
empty liquor bottles
not one having their lid
but not one spilling the secrets they hold
yet
in a storm so wild
a hole remains unfilled
no liquor
nor water
could ever fill
the pit in which I lie
all but have given up
on ever being pulled out
That first line dredged up sorrow I'd locked into the boot of a stolen car and dumped in a swamp.
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