Words now float on air
They no longer reach my ear
Blown far by the breeze
Month: February 2017
Gentle
Regrets build up
Weighing down my hands
Now unable to snuff out
This ever weakening flame
What life is there to end
Of one still waiting to be born
My Daily Trial
A day’s filth is more appealing
Than the polished rot that is
My skin, scarred and bled.
The devils will not seep out
As the light dims from my eyes,
Stale and distressed.