In Writing

My heart, full of soot, dark.
Rife with canaries I refused to hear.

My hands hurt.
Siphoning off all joy and spark
Just today, but telling me the story of every day that’s left.

I am the rock with no more blood to give.

I am the fallow field.

I am the song that everyone has forgotten how to sing.

Recent Posts
Questions? Comments? Reach out!

I'd love to hear from you!

Not readable? Change text. captcha txt