burn // ray lamontagne
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He sits by the fire,
amidst dozens and dozens
of old photo-albums.
One by one,
he sorts through them,
picking out
every single picture of her.
Every time,
her eyes pierce his,
he let's out a sad sigh,
and folds her paper self
in half--
permanently closing her
from his
heart.
At his feet
rest a pile
of folded up
nothings.
Once the albums
are all near empty,
he will collect each mistake
and throw them
into the fire,
and watch it
burn.
YOU ARE READING
twelve tracks
Poetry“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche /// (c) mockingjayde 2013 (c) respective artists and musicians.
