How quiet it is here
now that the yellowness of
our youth has withered
I do not complain,
for I see your kind, soft eyes
smile at me across the room
I hear your heavy breath
as you inch your way
closer
the wheeze that whirls
from lung to air,
on a breeze of long -
suffering longing
I hold out my wrinkled hand
to touch your paper thin skin,
trying hard not to bruise
or break
and you take it, silver flashing
between your fingers as you
stab, stab, stab
my chest
as the pills reach your stomach
and you wrap tight around me
holding, holding, holding
onto my heart
Feb 19, 2016
Feb 19, 2016 at 6:08 PM UTC
How quiet it is here
now that the yellowness of
our youth has withered
I do not complain,
for I see your kind, soft eyes
smile at me across the room
I hear your heavy breath
as you inch your way
closer
the wheeze that whirls
from lung to air,
on a breeze of long -
suffering longing
I hold out my wrinkled hand
to touch your paper thin skin,
trying hard not to bruise
or break
and you take it, silver flashing
between your fingers as you
stab, stab, stab
my chest
as the pills reach your stomach
and you wrap tight around me
holding, holding, holding
onto my heart
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