breathe slower now,
close your eyes,
let time around you slow.
The pain of letting go,
roots torn up and ripped,
the realization of
"I should be used
to this"
only hurts evermore,
a puddle of despair,
full of an oceanic abyss.
The last undodged rain drops
against a drooped
dead
flower in the windowsill,
the over-reaching
story-arc of tearful
philosophicless window-gazings.
Unclench your gnarly knotted fists,
the veins of stone no longer
flesh,
exhalation of last wisps of soul-smoke,
a blankeless persistence of
existence.
No comments:
Post a Comment