Her love is a
crowbar into
the stomach.
It’s a gun fight
in a closet.
It’s a black hole
in a paper cup.
Her love is a
grenade in a
gumball machine.
An electric chair
in a summer dress.
It’s a Third Reich parade.
Now i drive fast
with my eyes closed.
Scream into bottles
of Chardonnay.
Pick fights with
ghosts in long ago
basements
while looking
for reasons
in a cereal box
and empty parking lots.
Oh, this is excellent. The images. The contrasting. Perfect, I think.
Thanks man! I’d like to try to do more like this.
Welcome. It will be cool to see what you come up with next.