Comrade. (Remove filter)
Friendship. Loss.
His hands shook
His face contorted
He fought with
His stomach
Every morning
Palsy’d whiskey
Into his coffee
At breakfast
Thought no one
Noticed
As his new day
Was inhaled past
His vomit rotted
Teeth.
His breath stunk
His skin was
pallid
He hadn’t washed
His eyes
Were like
Dark
Stained glass
Portholes
As he peered
Ou...
Monday 28th January 2019 7:31 pm
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