***** hands.
Mud scorn.
Hearts wrenched by faces who brought memories surfaced.
Pushed back into your head,
So far they shouldn’t be called memories anymore.
Sorrowful songs.
Clenched teeth.
Lungs collapsed by impecable dreams.
Words spoken in ways they only make sense in a state of sleep.
Imaginary hands grasp round your throat.
Legs without bones
sink down to the kitchen floor.
Eyes dry from staring into the past,
trying to understand what you could’ve done,
should’ve done,
to change the unchangeable events.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 11:11 PM UTC
***** hands.
Mud scorn.
Hearts wrenched by faces who brought memories surfaced.
Pushed back into your head,
So far they shouldn’t be called memories anymore.
Sorrowful songs.
Clenched teeth.
Lungs collapsed by impecable dreams.
Words spoken in ways they only make sense in a state of sleep.
Imaginary hands grasp round your throat.
Legs without bones
sink down to the kitchen floor.
Eyes dry from staring into the past,
trying to understand what you could’ve done,
should’ve done,
to change the unchangeable events.
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