seldom merchants of skin. strike their bargains. in tender scabs.
the capacity of lost. measured in blood and bone. empty needles left in the vein.
the pulse of distance. the heartbeat of the wind. the persistent catastrophe of trying to live.
finding the less travelled paths. being found by them. the cold arithmetic of getting there. the oblique hysteria of making our way back.
the small cuts. they're the ones that bleed the most.
the little lies. they're the ones that truly tell us.
Sunday
8/27/2017 11:43:00 PM
| Life Poems |