My Mosquito Poem by gregory collins

The night was six inches deep.
I grew old by youth praying like bent nails.
All my liquor and its thorns remember,
in the bottom of my heart i am facing towards the moon.
There it would take your breath away to hold down my eyelids

and now putting my fist through a mirror,
my eyes are plowing me under.
I just cannot believe she is giving her breast
to a drowning throat,
and aims to get some of her blood back from this mosquito.