Poetry Blogs (stuck)
I feel the pricks of sand beneath my tender hands,
As though I were sat atop a shattered glass beach,
With my head cocked towards the blissful Sky.
I don't understand how this could be;
As I do not feel,
the pain of others within the crevices of my fingers.
For I was born to rain upon this world,
In magnificent showers.
But where I am now
-- between the se...
Monday 5th June 2017 6:04 pm
The hand reached into the pocket and pulled out lint. Expecting the worst, the lint was a better gift than anticipated. A cop asked me if there are any sharp objects she should know about, I say, "no", knowing that I have dirty tricks up my sleeve. I am arrested. It could always have been worse. So could I. But here I am. Jail Cell. Alone. No friends close. No bail. Alone. Surrounded by humans ...
Monday 3rd September 2012 7:29 pm