"contusion" poems
Color floods to the spot, dull purple.
The rest of the body is all washed-out,
The color of pearl.
In a pit of a rock
The sea ***** obsessively,
One hollow thw whole sea's pivot.
The size of a fly,
The doom mark
Crawls down the wall.
The heart shuts,
The sea slides back,
The mirrors are sheeted.
21.3k
Sequacious demonstrative mongrel fantastication
Overt fantasias and monstrance clarification
Rhetorical rote of empirical justification
Whimsical enervations elicit ramification
Incite legendary fables of rectification
Tempestuous mendacious erudite personifications
Endemic epistemological semantics of edification
Evocative illuminism engenders mortification
Judicious spontaneous phantasms of gratification
Numinous salutatory statutes of ratification
Heuristic existentializing empiricisms alleviate confusion
Adamant machismo machinations eliminate delusion
Eulogizing enigma entity’s illustrious illusion
Torridly allusive revelries of reverie effusion
Educing morose maniacal moribundity’s inclusion
Epitomizing empathetic revulsions to corroborate elusion
Probitous erudite solicitations evade contusion
Raunchy riotous accoutrements appreciate exclusion
Optimizing subjunctively torpid recalcitrant collusion
Scenario syntactics of mythically epic allusion
Jan 13, 2013
Jan 13, 2013 at 9:23 PM UTC
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analyses' dimensional delineations. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy ******** swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 28, 2019
May 28, 2019 at 12:10 PM UTC
Sometimes I just wanna start over,
to wipe the slate clean and start again.
Other times I'm glad the slate is still defiled.
Why is it so hard to live up to my own expectations?
To fulfill my own aspirations?
To grapple with these emotions?
To deal with this commotion?
Cognitive pollution, sensory delusion.
Mental illusion, emotional contusion.
Chaotic infusion, and ******** institutions.
Sometimes it's hard to cope.
I just want to elope, to float
to make a clean escape from myself.
To go on vacation and not to invite myself.
To lock myself away within myself
with no on else around to remind myself
of how I so seek to find a way
to cope with myself.
Jul 17, 2012
Jul 17, 2012 at 12:12 PM UTC
And I did it once again.
Skin picked and shaven,
Cakey frosted ivory,
Faceless, nameless,
Plasticity contusion.
Littered in the detailed fractures of a swelling stem,
Those skeletal twigs of intangible incestual wings,
splintered in stacks underneath his bed.
Apocalyptic comfort found in the veins of what remains...
Pineal shame,
Puny white me,
Post-karmic, futuristic-retrospective cosmic plan, slowly creeps towards me and offers its long inflaming hand.
Cricket twitch, echoes in the distant introspective glitch of my momentary intuition.
A bitter drip on tongue descends,
Tunneled in an unwanted exploration.
That sour pitched cacophony uncomfortably sung,
Through the ghastly cold touch of a righteous cockroached thumb.
Repugnance,
Spreading the stain of an untouched soul,
Quicksand, morphing me into dust.
Devouring the white and into the red I rust.
Nov 24, 2016
Nov 24, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
We watched the sun fall down and scrape its knee again, across the horizon.
Effusing amaranth, carmine, and cochineal across polluted vista.
It felt petty to issue guttural laughs, or engage the myofacial crescents beneath its visual lament as the Earth turned its back again.
We watched the sun rise, bruised, tender and shy this morning.
Its muddled contusion obviated by the gauze of fog.
A mottled neophyte -
Luminescent crepuscular rays defied dregs of interstellar debris and cloud.
Aching to kiss your skin -
In stellar cloud nursery, it eschewed the torque of orbit and gravity - eras before verity of your essence.
Humbly settling concentrically about oblate sphere, and gaseous tome.
Latterly - It altered the atmospheric pressure on the other side of the planet a week antecedently, as you clung to your dream lattice, and Earth innately turned oblate nucleus.
Its intent –
A veneration of you.
It bade the atmosphere convey a breeze echoing about your dermis, as it gilded your frame laconically, betwixt shaded steps beneath cloud and arbor.
The sun yelled at me at its pinnacle today,
Pallid bone – molten - miasma of rage
Its core missive garnered inertia – coronal plasma warping ellipsoid factions in inflections of elusive filigree
Pirouetting spicules spattered smelted torrents in the dismal anchorite
Atomic schism – silent but felt
It stoked humidity under shadowed niche - casual vaporous smears evinced no clemency.
Flesh torqued, and seized beneath itself, briny globules shed from puckered pore.
Culminations of sensitive fluid sacs scorched into the shallows of my chassis.
Insignia knit in cellular shrapnel
The sun ignored me today – or perhaps, it was I it.
Enigmatic tenacious resolution – an echo of its gravitational collapse
Inverse thermonuclear fusion
It is not fear in a relationship that keeps you apart, it is neglect of the infinitesimal.
Jan 26, 2014
Jan 26, 2014 at 9:13 PM UTC
I breathe in all shades of purple
and exhale in all shades of blue;
faded plums to cornflower petals—
a bruised kind of exchange
that makes you look up to the sky
and feel something for no reason.
A contusion I keep fresh for
whenever I let someone
close enough to press it.
And if the pain makes my skin
sing notes only my conscience can hear,
then I’ll write lyrics to match;
they'll say
*I’m alive.
I’m alive.
I’m alive.*
Feb 12, 2016
Feb 12, 2016 at 3:08 PM UTC
Mom would say, “Your dad has friends,
Black friends on the police force, of course
We don’t set down to eat with them.
It wasn’t safe to say to her, “Ahem.
Did you hear what you just said?”
She’d swing one upside my head
And it would be like a garden gate
But with the weight of her stout arm
And the harm she could do with that
Sat me back down on my bony ****
I wrote “black friends” but that is because
That was not the word she used, applause,
Applause. Clean it up for the publishment,
Don’t cause a resentment for the wrong reason.
It is never the season because I am white
And it’s never right for me to say the N word,
Haven’t you heard? They can, and I can’t
Even in a rant that describes the horror
Of living in a half right, all white world.
My fingers permanently curled into fists
So hard to resist saying to my parents
“You daren’t speak like that to the preacher
Or half of my teachers because they’d see
Just how deeply grained racism can be."
And both sides would take it out on me,
Just a kid, so I agree to hide what you did.
I agree to pretend you aren’t part of the problem;
Another prejudiced person, training me
Explaining to me how life really is right now.
You saying to me “Don’t put your lips there
On that fountain. Some N person might have, too!
And that made sense to you. Perfect sense.
You were that dense, that unquestioning, too.
Ready to do what your white society dictates
And making me into a swinging garden gate
If I don’t toe the line, and hold my confusion
While I pray for no contusion from the slap.
I hold hands in my lap and act submissive.
And I act like I accept all this as right
Because I am white. But, even though I won’t
Say a word at ten years of age, I don’t.
Jul 9, 2018
Jul 9, 2018 at 10:32 AM UTC
this verbal wishing well, appreciated,
a nut of good intentions but drives me
deeper into de-spare-ing downing detentions,
for it is only the article's genuine genius,
that elevates the human spiritus, to godlike status
no ditty this, but a wail, shriek, for
human touch is gift so greatest,
that any day passing without
either, neither but both, 'tis one
truly wasted,
a deduction on our
calculus of inited^ human intuitions,
a failure of our greatest inventions
a subtraction of our
gainful living, a purposed ecstasy
our one and only inexact
measure of measurement
that defies pedantic notions of
things of weight or volume,
but extends our own existence
sans
the armies of embrace,
the electric elected syncing,
of the shocking sharing of
closing the borders of divided spaces,
a soft contusion, a realized illusion
a de minimus of our days,
a lessening of our lessons,
a loss of earning livingness,
a nail in our coffined basket,
and here to cease without surcease,
the elemental incalculable numbered
members of our total human races,
that so tragic in a twenty four expiry,
that the bonding of affection goes
unexpressed...
offer you my armory of arms,
cleanse us both with showered kisses,
inform you thus of our emboldened connection,
voiding these lowlife separators of lineage divisors,
what matter color, gender, chosen god nomenclature,
any of this nonsensical human inventions for distancing
divested human beings from each other
tho eyes closed, and all our senses flaring,
when we confirm what we were born knowing,
there is nothing greater than the human touch
PostScript
my first and best poem of the day,
how it came to me goes unbeknownst,
but will practice what is preached
with any and all willing encountered souls,
and perhaps, come-end of day, will write,
once more, one more, re heaven on earth
7:02am
Tue Sep Thirty
Two Thousand and Twenty Five. nml
Sep 30, 2025
Sep 30, 2025 at 7:13 AM UTC
Some call it loneliness
I call it freedom
Those watching from a distance scoff
But burn inside with jealousy
Having to hide from the mirrors
Unable to give in to their desire to be alone
Out of fear
Not of wrath or punishment but of judgement
It is the very thing that cages us inside
Keeps us locked in
Under a watchful eye.
The fear guides us, leads us
Traps us in a corner and takes advantage of our confusion
Left with a contusion to our sense of self and a will to never feel helpless again
Therefore judgement rules our lives
We rule our lives.
We stand in our own way and displace responsibility
Aug 7, 2014
Aug 7, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Does part of your confusion?
Arise from the contusion?
Of that kiss so lovingly wrapped inside a fist?
Why hold back?
What’s pain?
Just black
A void
In which to switch!
We both know that you can’t touch me
In the fortress of my mind
For only I control the drawbridge
Vermin’s
More than often blind
squeak
squeak
squeak
*“Please let me in.
I have some wares to sell.
I’ll cross your palm with silver.
No secrets will I tell”*
Little mouse
Go away
Go back where you belong
We all know the germs you carry
We all know that they are wrong
YOU
Tout yourself as honest
YOU
Tout yourself as pure
But just beneath the surface
In the sewers
**YOU
DO LURE**
Lure the unsuspecting
Lure the barely formed
Punting pretence of perfection
Salivating salacious scorn
*“But … please Miss.
Hear me out.
You have me oh so wrong.
I'm just like all the other Joes.
Lost and all alone.
The mistake that I made was in telling you.
Thoughts inside my head.
On reflection.
Now.
I realise.
They were better off not said”*
Little louse
It is too late
For your motives are plain to see
Time to move on
Time to move out
Time to live out your sick fantasies ...
Jan 14, 2011
Jan 14, 2011 at 5:03 AM UTC
1135
Too cold is this
To warm with Sun—
Too stiff to bended be,
To joint this Agate were a work—
Outstaring Masonry—
How went the Agile Kernel out
Contusion of the Husk
Nor Rip, nor wrinkle indicate
But just an Asterisk.
1.7k
Distance traveled time spent's dynamic progressiveness, existentially transcendental's clairaudience clairvoyance. Metaphysical mystique’s evolutionally metamorphic futurity's fatidic incarnate. Due yesterday’s retrospectively retroactive. Protractive analysis' dimensional delineation. Enigma entity’s dexterously tactile acuity and coordinated agility on the identity crisis. Cerebral cortex’s ****** matrix to synaptic syntax semantics. Prospectus perplexity surreally sublime. Quagmire quandary’s poshly plush. Who am I to think I can conception of the infinite supply? Even the syntactics of eclectic synectics pale by compare to the atrociously impetuous impudence in pugnaciously audacious. Impromptu innuendo's juncture. Imagination’s immaturities are psychic clarity’s entelechy to evolutional tenants élan vital. Fiduciary principle's financially responsible fiscal policies. Mercenary mendacity's plenary plenipotentiary. Innocuous noumenal verity, mystic symbiotic’s chicanery dynamism fealties. Proximity parameter’s perimeter peripherals, vicinity victuals to vigilante villain, propinquity habitation’s harbingers of harangued. The question remains on the tribal: how can I stand next to the person I’m standing next to if I’m carrying on right through them. It’s the trajectory extant in spatiotemporal's telemetry tactician. Well graspy greedy on the stingy frugal to mingy minion and paw flaw laws claws on it. Get a glove, objectified manifest’s diminutive minutia iota’s of self-inductive interstitial extrapolation. Detinue perfective. Traveling down this obtusely overt contusion in my vehicular contrivance convection convolution. Nimbus nimiety exorcism’s aura roan to rainbow mare. Unicorn railway nails. Swarthy swastica swath swizzles on the sweaty swelter swerve to verve.
May 6, 2016
May 6, 2016 at 10:57 PM UTC
With a smack
and an echo,
things of mine are broken.
Blood vessels detonate,
spilling, flourishing, blooming
under the seven layers of my armor,
blushing shades of
red, blue, green.
They are embarrassed
by their fragility,
shy about the reminder
that they are not steel.
Immortality is
flamboyant as ever,
my shining ichor,
a beacon for the reaper,
whose mouth begins to water.
Only a false alarm,
the green and yellow
glistening contusion whispers.
Dust myself off
and keep walking,
Pain fades,
and my heart keeps beating.
Oct 8, 2011
Oct 8, 2011 at 1:10 AM UTC
odd. i see two chairs.
one room and one room
keeping the herd
while the nether
keeps the
paired.
a brute union of tough love and apathy
and middle-class *******
chafing on the sun drenched schema
of our dispossession.
like clever lads with epilepsy
only
the lights change
when
the frequency of
your questions
overclock the
enchilada.
the whole thing. baked in alaska.
striking a match
with a land
slide.
but absolutely, "no slide rules ".
every thing
to scale.
so the truth expands as you extend humility.
like an olive branch
in your boulevard
of baroque
naps.
life, is how sleep gets up in the morning. to yawn at the dream.
and
never quite
seem to remember
to tell
but recalls
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:21 AM UTC
I gaze into the cloudy exclamation point
That once radiated pure love
Only to find the mask of Ironman
Rusting from the tears wept
In ignorance of time displayed
I curse your hollow shell felled
Before the half moon rose
To consecrate your memories denied
Oh , The indignation watching
Love ******* crumbs into heartflake
I close your eyes forbearable the pain
Stained by pain's piercing sight
I conclude in contusion's might
Now night can never be as black
As the vacancy of my heart
Dec 25, 2014
Dec 25, 2014 at 10:34 AM UTC
Hasina had gums of a prune colored play dough, much like the type which he used to mold and model into similar contraptions and cases. Contrasting with the teeth of a superb suburban plaster, the ***** contusion continued its conversation. Collecting admirers and adolescent adonis’ innocent of their sins. Since the inoculation, passed away, a pretense to nervousness approached the very essence of our chest; the bead of the brooch where we found the philtrum too close to the nose. Curling inside its own bare curves. A bed without sheet, hindered, harnessed, the horse dragged on.
We soon found that the things we feigned to hate would come close to fame, In a magazine cover sheet, handed in late.
Hasina, and her mother, certainly did not suppose that that beneath the floor boards, neither harm nor concern would be discovered. And neither was. With the way their will worked things became distributed. Disturbed guests of unwanted presents and gifts soon re-sent to other more malleable means of hospitality.
Hungered as the hundredth wolf come to late. He too howled, but not at the moon, or rather not its simulacrum of a glowing truth, its silver light, or any movements its clearly showed. Growing loose the tumor slipped out, slowly. And with a plop, pressed against the walls, The jaws dropped and the mason jar closed and posed on exhibition for lessons, and interests, obsessions, dreads, things grotesque pressed against the walls.
To be captured, resting above the skyscrapers. Where in the hours of dawn, space overlaps, a frowned pace of a clock grows fondly of the time that is lost and past.
Sep 8, 2013
Sep 8, 2013 at 7:19 AM UTC
I wandered in on a world of dead rock. I laid with it. Smelt the essence together with carbon and metallic lifelessness.
To create a place of pretty. A sadness overcame.
I came to feeling. To knowing. Sentient.
A rootless contusion never ending.
A bottomless chasm of void.
The pit follows deeper and deeper it travels,
To the hollows of sorrow contempt I’m born.
I grow to feet from the ground where I lay,
As my body draped the floor sprawling and loose.
Upon these legs I rise, and so rise my eyes.
The hollow void I have lingers yawing in my stomach. Ulcerating my mucosal cavern.
What I see
Before me
On this road
On this desert of the necropolis:
Metropolis mass grave,
A mausoleum for civilization,
Möbius of war.
The reflective glint in my eye was of no mans eyes at all.
The death of hope.
Sea of sky scraping spires.
The dead hollow bones left after a city extinguishes.
Millions of towers with red glowing eyes, where blue life used to flourish, now twinkle in and out of this plane.
These giants graze, on the concrete and sway...with the wind.
Colossus of marble, petrified forever in granite with the internal flora that haunted their bowels.
They now have no agenda...city percolates to extinction.
They will forever amble with no purpose.
Once they housed the hearts and minds of microbes that built them.
The builders of hero worship.
They died in the 20's.
Left are the shells of a dream and a forest of buildings.
New York died circa 1900.
United States crumbles: 1776
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:38 PM UTC
Chest stews jealous behind the sun-risen eyes of confusion.
Beaten and drugged to midnight without touching overt illusion.
Humility is shaken false when the sun set tallies.
I’m still subject to the vacillation of peaks too valleys.
My peak is but a broom in an infant’s hands.
Troubled by the dust of a valley’s demands.
That claims to sweep what I could never pain…
Paint me the wandered sheep that wore lion’s mane.
I feel the viper of ignorance in the bump of a stranger.
Venom through my pride peeks invisible danger.
Whose reflection is my shadow radiating a contusion.
Vanity is not fair till it's understood delusion.
For I knew not when I didn’t in prides hindsight sip
My Master will always humble silence to thy lip
Brings meaning to the scars of my landscape
Plowed, reaped and sowed for a son’s sake.
………….
I Love Jesus
Dec 20, 2013
Dec 20, 2013 at 5:03 PM UTC
The problem is not with the problem,
It’s that you don’t listen.
The issue is with the wound I carry
It is the neglect and egotistical dissipation
The ignorance and obscure character disposition
It is in your complacency and self-righteousness
I AM YOU INNER CHILD, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
Or have you grown too macho to surrender to your sensitivity
How many times I’ve cried, waiting for your attention
How many times you have been of disservice,
I have evolved into a numb and heartless rock
I no longer have the frivolity and freewill to levitate
It is I who chokes your rhythm when you hesitate
It is me taking a cold shower when you are embarrassed
The breath of you takes away my reasons to live
I AM YOUR INNER CHILD, CAN YOU HEAR ME?
No? But I have so much to say
I have been wearing this forlorn contusion
Even when I talk it is not a discussion
You have marred me to become bitter and resentful
Gone is your passion, you are submerged in your job
Gone are your dreams, you have focused on that promotion
Love has been jaded by your promiscuity
What happened to loving one person in a million ways?
You are a servant of the social mirror and its constraining chains
Dancing to the dictatorial piano that plays and plays
Where models are defined you are a written face
The beats come together picturesque but grotesque
For you are more about maintaining the picture on display
What is in your heart has bowed to despair
I AM YOUR INNER CHILD, CAN YOU NOT HEAR ME?
I am drenched by the sweat of your incessant grind for material
Can you not understand that this has left me hysterical?
Surrealism suggests that as partners we should yearn for the ethereal
Free me from child abuse
Free me from bad news
Free me that I can choose
Free me that we can fuse
Free me to sign a treatise of truce
So I can be the inner child you love and don’t confuse
So that we can be free to try new things
So that we can rise above dogma and play strings
So that we can ride the giant phoenix, on its soft merriment wings
…. And I will be the child in whom you confide and pay mind and find signs of truth in our stride, we won’t hide for we won’t be blind but kind in humility like we never lied and be free from the twigs that had us tied to a tree of no-open-mind and one we’ll be in time… I the child in whom you confide to find the prize of life.
Jan 21, 2014
Jan 21, 2014 at 4:26 PM UTC
The line of freedom was drawn,
fortunate passports found
amongst the rubble of Ground Zero.
The future was not a boot,
more, groping hands through
intimate pockets
and blue light that decimates
the privacy of dreams.
No concentration camps,
Bernays fuelled the fire
in a wolf's disguise
until the crowd would herd itself.
No Aryan prophecy-
hatred more efficient
when its hands are untied.
Small disparities linger
the stem of deception:
the bottom-feeders are sterilised,
benefits withdrawn, foundations exposed
as ******* palms gather the loot
they lifted through the ceiling.
Sensory comfort provides
the leisure of a clouded mind,
a blood sugar spike,
the Soma of our time.
Under halogen lights
they make love in the high-rise
then labour in sleep
for what love cannot afford.
Continents divide.
Africa: the cold shoulder.
Asia: the factory line.
Oceans swell in neoprene heat
as sling-shots are drawn
beneath a dying star.
Old skull of Palestine,
cross-hairs on the White House
and a contusion in Pakistan.
Doors of perception only open to addiction.
Separate from G-d ,
draw more blood from the ground
like a smoker in the inexhaustible
process of quitting.
A belief in infinity
that will last until the world's end.
The line of freedom was drawn.
Everyone believed that they were on the right side.
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 9:03 PM UTC
I loved you, with every fibre of my being. Every muscle, every heartbeat, every breath and every instance. When I was with you, all I knew was to make you smile, make you happy, make you treasure every moment so I kept my heart open for any piece of vindictive criticism you had for me. I wore every part you liked and discarded every part you despised. I tried and tried to make sure I could build myself into your dreams like the way a person would mix and match ice creams fulfilling their every need. I will no longer choose to make you happy, I will no longer choose to make you smile because while that was fun and warm; I am choosing myself. I will not chase the imaginary dragon like a ****** addict chasing another fix by fixing myself for you. I will not choose to make you happy anymore. Do not look to me for love, the love I felt for you has died. Our moments have cascaded like snowflakes melted by the scorching sun. Do not look to me for love, my love for you is like a cadaver floating with the currents in a canal. I will not love you again not the same way that I used to, that I could. I have loved you from every starlit moment to every sunny day. Take it from a guy willing to risk his life to remind you that you are beautiful every moment; I have been deceived by an optical illusion that lays heavy like a contusion in the mind. I knew I was blind but unsure as to how blind, because beauty doesn't come from a pretty exterior but a heart that soaks in all forms of kindness. I gave you every piece of me just so you could rip it apart, piece by piece. I hope you cherish every hurtful moment with ease; you are lucky not to live with the same bitter blue saddened memories I will carry in my life. Do not look to me for love- I no longer know how to love you.
- from he who let you break him apart.
Apr 9, 2017
Apr 9, 2017 at 4:46 AM UTC
Mang things about me just don't make sense.
Everything always happens in the past tense.
I like flea markets, don't like fleas.
I don't like you's but when you're with me's.
When you've got a love like the Moon and the Sun
You can't be really apart, you can't truly be one.
Things take up my day til I can have your night.
And this will only change if your birdies learn to fight.
When home sweet home means a mess of confusion,
And all the thinking gives you a contusion
Just lift up your pinkie and take a sip.
Cause dreams taste nice and lifes a trip.
I love chocolate but can't eat sweets.
I like flea markets,
Do not like fleas.
Sep 6, 2012
Sep 6, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
a fuzzy little peach
rolled from her terrace of the tall table
off into the depths of the air and onto the floor.
i scooped her into my hands and asked her,
'beautiful peach, how did you land here?'
with a sigh, she responded,
'dear human, there are few things i can do.
once i began to roll,
i could not stop myself.'
her skin clouded with signs of contusion
and her flesh softened with the force of her fall.
'beautiful peach,
there are few things i am able to do as well.'
i did all that i could for her in that moment--
brought the fuzzy little peach to my chest
and gently held her close to my heart.
'dear human,'
she whispered,
'though it is not much to you,
to me,
it means everything.'
Nov 3, 2017
Nov 3, 2017 at 10:07 PM UTC