A night like dying sparks,
eyes like the shards of gloom
caught at the end of a cigarette.
If only you could have a friend
in this
quiet
Hell.
A way to ride out these fields
that lap the infinite strands
of sorrow,
onto your cheeks.
Find an opening
into the morning,
and map a way,
onto the skin of the hundreds,
to be remembered.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s