Xanax in the blood
screams.
Empty chairs.
Small birds, hopping from here
to there. Waiting for the guests.
Evening sits on the
dirt road.
We look together at the
cracked moon.
The grace of becoming
gray, sweeping the floor
of life. You will wear a different
smile everyday.
The house follows you
wherever you go.Saturn or Mars
will not cast a spell of malfeasance.
Oct 17, 2016
Oct 17, 2016 at 11:15 PM UTC
Xanax in the blood
screams.
Empty chairs.
Small birds, hopping from here
to there. Waiting for the guests.
Evening sits on the
dirt road.
We look together at the
cracked moon.
The grace of becoming
gray, sweeping the floor
of life. You will wear a different
smile everyday.
The house follows you
wherever you go.Saturn or Mars
will not cast a spell of malfeasance.