Drunk ships
Drunk ships sail west
on lonely blue waves
their jagged tips sharp
like mothers migraine,
I caught sight of my reflection
in the moody flow
and it occured to me
that all of my beautiful nights
were stolen from me
and because of this
I don't really know myself.
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Words, warmth, grumblings, poetry, tears, venom, pornography, spit, swallow, love, hate and hope.
About Me
- M W
- I write, or at least I try to. These are the things that I write, they form the pages of my confessional. Four our fathers. Five hail Mary's. All content (c) Matt Wilding