Sunday, June 12, 2005
We exist, almost.
as if afraid
to truly fill our lungs
with the sweet air
that filters through
these moments –
when we meet
bone to raw metal.
Only to retreat quickly
when fragile skin
brushes against
slivers of
old glass –
For some wounds
never heal.
We've learned that
crystal shards
cut deep
when one
least expects
their existence.
as if afraid
to truly fill our lungs
with the sweet air
that filters through
these moments –
when we meet
bone to raw metal.
Only to retreat quickly
when fragile skin
brushes against
slivers of
old glass –
For some wounds
never heal.
We've learned that
crystal shards
cut deep
when one
least expects
their existence.