Hovering, breathless,
on the edge of desolation.
The egg cracks open.
The shell is broken.
It is but a token.
Of your esteem.
I dream in monochrome.
Somebody tell me
what I am supposed to do.
What does your psychiatrist
really think of you?
I cry out, I kneel
on a beach of grey pebbles
and bleached bones.
Pleading with God
Won’t you take me
Won’t you take me home?
Advertisements
December 12, 2011 at 8:50 pm
If a super brand-new article becomes an option or if perhaps any changes occur on the current post, I would like to read more. ny giants
LikeLike