seventh sun

slick sunrise
you know who you are
blond sweat and broken dreams
the narcotic ecstasy
of sleeping while others toil

i cut my leg on broken fence
drunk stumbling
i am bleeding on the world
and the world is bleeding on me
there are no words
for the things that we want

silence makes the morning come
in an alchemical haze
we awake
to find they’ve taken the best
and you say, don’t worry
the best wasn’t good enough


still from ‘the seventh seal’ by ingmar bergman, 1957

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