Almost midnight

The poets like friends that I knew were just passing through, and the night tasted stranger as the words that flicked fingers like flames on my cheeks disappeared on the page. The danger was in the remaining in draining the last drop, but I found I could not stop and the cup of bitterness tasted…

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This is poetry?

Traffic light red means I stay idling in bed, means the thoughts in my head sleep on.. I am a fridge…

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