Thursday, June 19, 2014


Bound and breathing easy. 
Pitch black. 
Left on my side. 
Curled fetal. 
Tears evaporated. 
Only the salt remains. 
Iron on a broken lip.
Broken feels comfortable. 
Broken is familiar. 
Broken is home. 
I'm afraid of the sun.
Better to suffer the devil you know
Than trust yourself with things that burn.

No comments:

Post a Comment