~

Spent

Clouds they seem to bind me,
horizons call in a weakened voice
as I walk this asphalt world, my hands in my pockets,
searching for loose change and memories

A folded piece of paper absorbs

my feelings scribbled on a napkin
Saturated in timeless moments of what once was hope
Clinging to the aftermath of you,
filled of braided strings and fraying verses

Small floral faces plead

daisies, thorn’d and harsh
stretch towards the heavens, hunting moisture,
wilting on stems of disbelief,
calibrated to temperate timing or lack there of

I know how they feel

reaching for the skies, expecting an answer…
even in clouds, ashtrays, holding the residue of filtered emotions
Silence in a tormenting shade of gray,
scattered by the faintest hint of wind

Revealing a sun

as if it even matters, my pen is dry, barren
of arid thoughts melting in the wasteland of my mind
Corrosive and blistering in my hand,
lost in my last pocket of emptiness...

Spent