//mypoeticside.com/

Noah

Dear Mom and Dad of the Past

I feel like a beaten dog.
My heart is used up.
My braid is fried and worn out.
I cut my soul out long ago and the shadows of the damage are starting to cascade over me.
My hands are frail and broke.
My legs wish for nothing but to give out.
I have no energy to keep the forward motion this life demands for mere survival.
I give up.