My brother cuts a tragic figure,
staring at the wall, drunk on scorched earth.
The short gaze of a long-standing fiend-
spliced from vast, sleepless nights
that could swallow anyone whole.
To tame a thought
one must have it full;
all capability of cruelty and evil,
all capacity for love and change
spread wide and stretched thin
like a fitted sheet.
Back to latticework lies, back
to anything for the next hit,
back to being held at gunpoint for money you don't have,
back to using family as collateral.
Because nothing stays clean forever.
Created: Mar 19, 2012udowhatudo Document Media