pulp

up against the wall again

between short breaths of fine

in darkened grey kaleidoscope

and ever fading line

in lingered hope of might and may

where failed tries now fall

and desperate ends tied tight so long

unravel – after all

as soft wind blows, in withered time

and creaks at fallen door

down way below what might have been

and isnt anymore.

About lifeofawillow

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