Abora

emotionally unavailable

6/28/20 2:26AM

 

Ashes fall out of me like

A holy hearth

It’s not Wednesday

But I can still feel the mark on my head

 

The thunderstorms waver

One minute haunting

The other crashing

 

And the old thin steel

Of my uncle’s Packard

crackles in the drizzle

 

There are things I can’t say

But nothing I can’t write

And I still write nothing

 

What a rout,

Every effort I have

I don’t need to be the red army

Yet I still go on long marches

 

And birds call in this storm!

Likely just as confused as I

Just pour on me

And fill up my head

 

The storm made up its mind

And blesses me with disparate

Shimmering

Mist

 

Just like claire used to do

Comments1

  • Andrew Charles Forrest

    When the door i locked, no-one can get in
    Ouch!
    Like the emotion
    thanks



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