Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jan 2021
Finding your memory
Lodged deep like a bullet wound
And in reaching past ribs, I heal
And turned out your used-to-be onto the street
And now only its recollection collects
And makes me money
All patched up, I'm headed home.

https://youtu.be/l5jmjflRyVA?t=41
Colm
Written by
Colm
Please log in to view and add comments on poems