There was a great howl, the undeniable sound of his dreams being consumed by insecurities,
sifting through the filth and grime of his mind, searching for some purity
hands charred and blackened sifting through ashes of bridges burned
prayers that no stone was left unturned
no sweet crisp air unsavored
you could almost taste his thoughts, if anguish had a flavor
looking to the heavens not asking for a savior
praying for the rain, to rinse off the layers of pressure compressing his burdened back
hands meticulously sifting charred and black...