the house breathes when they're gone
the wooden panels let out a sigh,
they held for so, so long.
the birds chirp on the powerline,
miniature angels,
they call to the coyotes
and the rats
and the rabbits.
the rabbits are under the house
carving veins of life
giving sentience to a manmade horror.
the coyotes call out to the birds,
a yip in their throat
and a bullet in their paw,
they give sound to the soundless.
the rats run in the walls,
a nostalgic patter of paws,
you may remember from your own problems.
the rats bring you experience,
that you may not remember.
the house breathes when they are gone.
-icarus
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an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
