Poem-A-Day: Day 494

Mad As We Are

I drink away hurting, 
wishing there was something more 
before turned promises.

Mad as lines across silver burns,
a trail of light flickering needles
climbing up bone cathedrals.

I'm not sure I want to try
shadows across a trail,
flickering like moths broken easily. 

We cannot fail 
across it, a speed flickering mad,
as blue screen burns hope. 

We are lines
across silver screen light, 
flickering like moths in the night.