there is no (in)
between
with me... i wallow
on the shallow brink
of imperfection,
walking the line
between
a plethora of sights
and a
euphemistic lack
of money:
it is
a minutia of love,
like glass in a window
closed hard
in front of my face. i lurk
downtrodden
and disheveled
on an outside ledge
i cling halfheartedly to the dream of you
(and brightness)
like some gargoyle queen
of the night.
i try so hard
to be still...
No comments:
Post a Comment