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Every day, I stop myself from stepping into those alleyways where no light reaches.
(atomicpoet.org)
Every day, I stop myself from stepping into those alleyways where no light reaches.
No. I don’t want to slip into oblivion.
No. I don’t want those alleyways.
I don’t want to live among the dregs of debris,
in convulsions, lungs full of fog.
Dreaming of such heights, staring into such blank gutters—
I don’t want those alleyways.
Cold. Bitter.
Beyond that brick wall lies the abyss.
A heartbeat quickens, then slows.
In these gutters, pink turns to blue.
A spike.
That moment of rush.
A requiem. Blank.
Don’t walk down that alleyway.
Some dreams should not be over.
Photo credit: Rich McPeek
