weak rise scars spent breeze lungs spirit eat teeth car shine nature died veins neck top moving sat loves dry
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the spent breeze rises up, moving,
****** into, ******* up air in our lungs
but yet still! the spirit weak,
the teeth useless chewing,
dry words mashing,
no eat, just pasty
the scars shine
like veins protruding from the top of a man’s neck,
looking like holes in a rusted car that can’t never
shine no more,
once the breeze stops moving
he sat there while he slow died,
not moving,
nature and his loves
and his
skin slow dry texturized,
desiccating
done.
the spent breeze rises up, moving on...
