the night atelier

 

our future

is an obnaxious vulture

for it hunts

before it shuts

the doors to hope.

the dope

is pleasing

but the results

are greedy of

a readjustment to our souls.

your eyes

did promise paradise

just yesterday.

today it’s crushed –  

like cube of ice.

and i’m reformed –

with broken neck

and broken bones,

i’ll crawl to future

for i know

the world you’ve painted me,

can’t burn.

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