who are you
I stumbled without a sound
You picked me up off the ground
who are you
and why am I
drawn to you
I went so long
empty and cold
lost my grip
had nothing to hold
Like an angel you came
But even your white wings
Hid in your shame
Couldn’t cover the dark things
That still remain.
So you refrain
You fly away
Without a chance
Without a name
Who are you
Who have you been
Have you been lying
What is your sin
The shadow that’s behind you
No longer wants to follow
And no one else around you
Thinks you’re worth the bother
If you’re hopeless, then I’ll be okay
(The words you speak inside your head)
Though “I’ll rescue you” is all you say
“without me, life is dead.”
Who are you
To give me pain
I asked for none
You watched it rain.
Who are you
To draw me in
I’m letting go
I’ll let you know
Who you are
As soon as I'm gone
About the Creator
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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