The Stories In Between

There comes a time, I think When perhaps, nothing is left No more pieces to reshape No more ashes to sift through No more walls

There are days When this world proves Too much for me I was stopped At a crosswalk To let a woman and her children cross

Your memory clings like a noose I so delicately tied myself In the early hours when sleep eludes Desperation sets in, like an old friend

It’s through shallow eyes And loose fingers Which you grip the world So much easier To slip Through my icy embrace Than to accept For