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Literature Text
The wind
Grasps, a rattling breath.
I can call the wind, tell it
To cease existing.
Black and blue bones,
Tattooed on pierced skin
With the mildew of un-wash tears
On the surface
Of abandoned faces.
To live alone,
to die alone
A rite of passage,
not found for love.
I am the definition of a heart broken soldier.
No more wars of the heart
As the sinew keeping the arteries connected
Are crumbling and deteriorating.
ashen skin.
White rocked feet.
contemptuous hands.
Burnout and parched lips.
I tried to kiss the heartbreaker
Her skin was made of starlight.
Truth is pale
Dishonesty is dark.
I am neither.
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© 2013 - 2024 Cloud-and-Petrichor
Comments7
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a great piece!