When you wake up. Your night has passed in a blur. All you want is the hit. It’s a new day. Nothing else is relevant. You drink the shot.
By Karl McBeath3 months ago in Poets
The war on unions. Causing the rich to thrive so. Keep a fire burning.
It gives warmth in the coldest and most desperate hours. The flickering faster than a blink of an eye. One would need a good camera.
