Imprimir The Sparsity of Sand by Tristan Robert Lange

Left to haunt while others are present
Only the cats recognize that I’m here.
Necrotic hopes buried in Aphrodite’s tomb,
Even song birds mute into misery.
Leaden, my chest’s chambered millstone sinks.
I never imagined my zone to forever twilight.
Never free, my bosom’s a perpetual prison.
Erasure emanates for eternity.
Sleepless are nights of a nighing soul
Scraping for sand granules of love reciprocated.