The weight of the world grips my ankles,
Like a starved man desperate for meat.
One step forward is like trudging through a swamp of eternal memory.
I have nowhere to go
And the swamp is too much.
I think it best that I just let myself sink.
YOU ARE READING
Storm Prophecies
PoetryRain falls in crosshatch across the lamp lit sky, splattering the asphalt ground with splashes of reflected light. I look at the sketchbook in my hand and trace the penciled rain and smudged glow. It was shit. I let to book fly onto the muddy grass...
