It Is Only On The Doorstep Of Introspection That We Find Our True Selves

Sifting mindlessly through
the emotional wreckage of her heart,
the girl with the stark, haunted eyes,
turns her soul’s cannon loose,
from its desiccated mooring.

She fires volley
after volley
into the obsidian night sky,
the fear of betrayal
dancing like water
dropped from a great height.

In time the waking dream subsides,
her glasses come off as she rubs
her tired eyes, bound for
the dresser drawer, they make
a noise not dissimilar to the
clunk-clank of her neglected heart as it yanks
at the thick chains that
surround its murky crimson epicenter.

 

 


Please enjoy my books (FREE pdf of first two books here) and leave a 5 star review:

Holding The Bruised Rose Blossoms Of An Attempted Genetic Rinse

Juggernaut Of Yearning

Metaphysical Magic

Any Words From Your Brain?

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