Whisky Dawn
sonnet or not … a poem?
Homemade for two people in a large cardboard box kept at bay anchored with simple projects and small rocks this house is all improvised session inside from where I fell asleep next to me as I watch my turn to take a drink of whiskey, makes my throat burn memories escape me, I feel old life gone through the night waiting for the dawn gradually relax my body now wakes intrusion into our house that will not allow is heated cardboard shelter morning sun box as we crush our days has begun another day of begging on the street never own up to the total defeat
You painted a crystal clear picture. … The thing is broke, homeless and damn near defeated, but they are together … the protection of others. I prefer that the union of all the money in the world. What is the point of having the house, bank account, travel experiences if you have no one to share with?
Whiskey Dawn- Hurt So Good