Aug
29
mountain
the curses on my hands are
spilling over
and dripping down
like the blood on her wrists
and the air in their lungs
it feels so sweet when
you’re on the top of the mountain
before you fall
all the way down again
the shapes of their eyes
they change
like the spiders took them over
or they got hit on the ledges
maybe i am twice your age now
or looking down
from some sort of weird heaven
that doesn’t involve much joy
maybe i can guide you
but maybe not
you will not listen
nobody listens
we all muddle along
like ants stuck in a box
looking for a way
to crawl out and breathe again.
