Nailed to the cross, naked
Love is burned at the gates,
Despair huddles over its carcass,
Smiling comfortably in pain.
Like a child clutching his blanket,
Except these are bite-the-curb hates,
Resentment season is the hardest,
Lonely our blankets shelter us in the rain.
Before you notice, it’s void
Either it’s Keith – Joker games,
Or a little Cobain ‘cate.
Many lost at sea,
To live – a debate,
The remainder is nonsustainable,
Living sober it aches.
See all poetry for Mark Razo #67912-097