Death, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry

Numbers and Desolation

We all have been there,
alone and desolated.

With a mutual disregard
even for the infinite tones of the sea.

Counting the uneven days,
when a bowl of unexplainable rage
was refrigerated within the spaces
between the soul and darkness.

The numbers kept us hanging.

The fat man and the little boy,
slipped past some fucking numbers,
leaving behind annihilated dreams
sublimating to the zenith of a nuclear cloud.

The beginning of a countdown
is the recipe for your destruction.

tick-tock, tick-tock
do you feel it?


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