Fur meets skin


Tonight the cold steals from us.

The bones ache-

With the haggard moon in droop.


There are static lights but no sound,

The colds got intentions but no voice.

I walk the barren street,

All cast in the skies purple.


He lies there.

Never knows the time.

Never sober.

Night and day: one-

Stuck not knowing where it begun.

The victim of man,

Skeletal frame curled like a child.

Sleep brought on by his infusion:

Thought malleable by the delusion.


I see him every night.


A broken man, surrounded by the pack:

The prowlers and hunters,

Scuffed and sliced-

Dogs that own this night.


Somehow they mope around him,

Fur meets skin.

They are there,

Biting children-

But never him.


The snarling starts,

The warnings out.

I know not the reason-

For them to idle him so.

There is no reward.

Nothing by him to be given,

Other than his soul…lost.


The image never leaves;

The question stays the same.

All I know –

Is he will be there,

And so shall they too.




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