A box of rusted feelings hides in the salvaged yard of my mind. Jagged sorrows and broken promises surround the dismembered machinery, forgotten and guarded.
The old dog with his once beastly growl, no longer cares who leaves or stays. The dirt below, slowly pulling forming his final resting place.
Shabby parts like tired looks rot under thunderstorms of powering weather. Torn threads like once relationships, patched and torn asunder The Stacks pile high, a top the years of mistakes The box slowly sinks heaving more and more heartbreaks