Life is a strangling hand
A dusty road that leaves
specks of brown dust in eyelashes
Stains on ruddy cheeks and sleeves

The past pinches like
a lobsters' black claw
The path towards the horizon
has thorns that lash like strange jaws

The now is a tide of color
washing in and out
like breath in the lungs
twisting green and quickly draught

Exciting morning
A true, destiny walking
out of entity.

I
have
now lived
through an actual
plague &finally understand
why Italian Renaissance paintings
always have couches with

fat naked people

laying on
them

.

she hides under her bed
and cries herself to sleep,
she wants a happy life,
but she hides what she needs,
though to many she may be joyous
and as many friends she has,
she still needs someone close
which she clearly never had