Poems,  Works


I, as you, walk down this road of broken glass
It dulls the mind with discord – memory

It is instinct to look back

What else is there to do, but move on to feeble hope
Lost is the string of the grey stained path
The pavement is cracked
The land withers in the mirror of the glazed eye
What have we song our lives to become
How can we scrape ourselves together

Into a semblance of existence

It is true
Our nails cannot bite deep enough
Our screams cannot pierce loud enough
Our sickness torment enough

We do not hear ourselves
We break

We do not see

That we are

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