Mouths shut, tucked under
Lip over lip
Through the shattered glass,
Through its gentle fall.
Was it the fallout
That kept tying our tongues
To the disturbance of defeat?
Was it the silent moaning of burnt words
Trying to catch every breaking fall?
Listen: we are all made to fall.
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 7:29 PM UTC