empty old radiant eyes.
left alone to dwell, swell, weep, then dry.
haunted hearts fading into dust, ash, then to must.
all that's left is no one to trust.
you can try to hurt me,
but it just won't penetrate.
atlas had the weight of the world,
and there is no way to pretend
that malice such as yours, even bothers me
slight; with the weight of this continent
backs will break, so will collarbones
more, please.
ReplyDeleteAlas, I have written one more. Between moving, back to school and trying to find work/working weekends I've produced little to nil writings. Maybe 5 at best.
ReplyDelete