Cries drain from the speakers till there’s nothing
left to hear, crippled by clinking bottles delicately
stacked on top. The frame droops and decays displaying
rotted roots tangled ‘round liver and lungs, corroded
by waterfalls of resentment. Four months in and 40 minutes
till midnight.
Swallowed secrets now echo in the
halls of sewers, spraying blasphemy into the streets
leaving stains on the bottoms of our shoes. With nothing
left hidden, a naked body now exposed to alleyways
and dead ends. Beware the broken glass, corsets
and cocks. Four months in and 40 minutes
til midnight–
but sobriety was swallowed when the captain set
sail. Leaving behind nothing but carnage and burns,
adds another bottle to the tower. And while
the waves crash against the concrete, the
forecasted tears murder any remaining sympathy.
Now the only home left is with the secrets in the sewer.
