the wind blew

into bones.


it was winter.

the beds were cold.

and sometimes

the thoughts fell into

others. each strangling.

living in a past

gone. but sill felt.

still here.

in this moment.

where the beds were

as silent

as the nights.

where the nights were

as cold

as the beds.

and sometimes the bullets



close enough

to feel close enough.

close enough to

chase faces

into vices

that felt a whole

lot like warmth.

and no one cared.


© Hudson Biko


4 thoughts on “alone”

Leave a Reply!

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.