Sunday Sunrise

The rum has nowhere to hide. Run ragged and dry, here I am to face the day. Tomorrow's headaches are on the way. The blurry spins of neon gaslights, loose-skirt women and holy poison have, slowly, walked themselves back home. My crumbled clothes and foggy notions don't stand a chance. Tell the hopeless prayer of a cigarette-salvation that I'm on the way. Damn those Saturday nights...

Reviews

[olla]

I have actually read this several times.. it didn't really mesh until this time.. but the good thing is I may have figured out how to read your work.. this is very good.. the morning after the night before.. I especially like " neon gaslights, loose-skirt women and holy poison have, slowly, walked themselves back home." and "the hopeless prayer of a cigarette salvation" good work there.. few words but so descriptive..