I feel the sadness creep back into my bones and I whimper.
All of me crumples to the floor like a fallen autumn leaf,
trapped by the asphalt and the air,
with the impending fate of being trampled on by wandering feet.
I can do nothing but watch
and wait
as every bit of my being succumbs to this plague of past participles.
I long to be saved, to be rescued,
but when your savior is your victim,
when your hero is the fallen,
it's a lot like trying to write with no ink.
Mar 21, 2013
Mar 21, 2013 at 1:48 AM UTC
I feel the sadness creep back into my bones and I whimper.
All of me crumples to the floor like a fallen autumn leaf,
trapped by the asphalt and the air,
with the impending fate of being trampled on by wandering feet.
I can do nothing but watch
and wait
as every bit of my being succumbs to this plague of past participles.
I long to be saved, to be rescued,
but when your savior is your victim,
when your hero is the fallen,
it's a lot like trying to write with no ink.
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