when i am the sky
all my clouds are filled
with water.
desperately trying
to grow roots in memories
more terrible than air,
and always slipping.
but my tongue is tied to a swing,
one rope busted
& dangling
towards the grass.
the oak above
was once my lovers body.
his eyes still cling
to the rusty leaves,
one arm extended:
a carved heart
with initials missing.
1 comments:
To edit is to slowly kill yourself. There isn't any point, it does that automatically.
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