Tuesday, August 31, 2010

something I wrote

The tears drain like blood from the wound of the shot fawn, her lower lip flutters as mine trembles, she twitches as I sprawl, and If she could cry--she would be weeping. The Fear, the pain in her eyes match my glossy reflection of suffering and anguish. My mother, she told me to go to Alano, so I could Mend the things he's done wrong, turn them into sentences or maybe a song, but I'm trying, I'm letting go, giving up, surrendering to the war of the disease, the one that brings him daily to his knee's, but giving up is hard, love is hard, to overcome, just to say I'm done is hard, but I need to let go, need to let life flow, let my pain roam in some other haunted forest or my throat is going to go hoarse or worse--Ill fall apart.
She blinks one last time, moves her foot one last time, gasps for the last breath of heavy air--Then she lets go, I'm letting go.

2 comments:

  1. nice post man. I'll /s/upport you daily if you keep it coming. I am legion.

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