Gone are the gentle days

Where once I heard the trickling
of liberation on summers evening
breeze as laughter danced between
the bubbles of sanity… Insanity.
Now I hear only a hollow glug
that creeps across my skin on
the knife edge of smashed shells
as you pour another and another
refilling your glass of despair.

Karen Hayward ©2017

Image found via Google search

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