its all just waiting

in a stale holding pattern

for what was wrought

through lies and fate

till the clock strikes

that proverbial midnight

and the last beat

can finally clap down

and the exhausted can fall

in a tortured heap

and those little hands

can finally let go

of every bit

of smoke and nothing

and weak heart can give out

and soft brain can just stop

and a soul that was a mistake

can go back from whence it came

and everything else

will with time

be erased.

About lifeofawillow
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