Thursday, March 24, 2016

The Lin -- Between -- es Of This Poem.

How did I get here
Every map has a hole where my home should be
Left is the same as right
Lets escape before the sun hits these bars
On the verge of collapse under these stars

Caught in a thunderous storm of falling ash
Rising and falling with the breath of a sleeping demon
You wait ever calmly for a break in the waves
Slicing your way through a patch of briars
Thorns create memories that scars can't heal
Atop a mountain of pulsing hearts
Last to die is the first to live

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