Beautifully written

God's Only Toys

forty

It’s not getting any better.
And I’m not going to be alright.
The water’s frozen over.
With the cracking of the ice.
Like the cracking of my back.
I can hear no movement coming.
There is nothing.
And I have become it.
I sleep too much and I speak too low.
For in their silence, I can still hear your laugh.
The voices of others are the sound of ground glass.
The chaos of crickets as I lay my head on the grass.

There are photos of us.
You and I in the background
Of somebody’s memories.
I found them by chance.
In a hole in a wall that you built.
I hold them too close.
Don’t I always?
I don’t suppose you know they exist.
I lit them by moonlight at my window.
To put a bit of fight in my chest.
I smoke a lot of cigarettes.
And…

View original post 120 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s