Songs and storms
shattered glass
broken homes
operatic echoes
screaming voices
on the wind
a simple verse
of empty sin
torn pictures
litter barren halls
faded grey
memories
without color
walked away
over ashes
night and day
footsteps
in the past
where I left
my heart
to lay
3 AM:
It was 3 AM when my story ended
out alone on the street
ebony of night the bars were closed
shadows seeping into my veins
clothes and stains
hidden little pains
learning to pretend
learning to smile
learning to lie
Standing in the dark
where the body lay
forgetting the day
walking away
from what was my life
into eternity
never asking why
forgetting how
the day I died
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 Munson2 days ago in Fiction
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