DOG-EAT
- Dark Poets Club

- Sep 3
- 1 min read
By M.M.Wake

I wake with dirt in my teeth,
hands smelling of fight.
Last night’s liquor
still growls in my gut.
Love?
That’s a joke
for soft-bellied things.
I sharpen my grin,
walk barefoot through glass,
and dare the world
to bleed before I do.



