everyone’s a slave to something. poetry The frigid night air burned as it poured through the crevices of my protection. Exhilaration, I thought. It was propelling, all of it, on the cusp. The dimmed, lamped concrete corners awaited my next stumble. Share this: Share on Bluesky (Opens in new window) Bluesky Share on Tumblr (Opens in new window) Tumblr Share on Mastodon (Opens in new window) Mastodon Share on Facebook (Opens in new window) Facebook Share on Reddit (Opens in new window) Reddit Share on Pinterest (Opens in new window) Pinterest Email a link to a friend (Opens in new window) Email Share on X (Opens in new window) X Like Loading...