LAST MAN STANDING [NOIR POETRY 365]

night ambles into his room

shadows longer than ever

the bitter taste of solitude 

tainting the awkward 

tongue & blind hands

moths no longer seek

his faded inner light 

& all the spiders have

long been eaten

he’s the only one 

left in his web

. . .

245.4 NOIR POETRY 365 | POEM 98 [LAST MAN STANDING]