My life is in my hands
I roll my life into a little paper tissue
I bring it to my eyes.
But they have run dry
Habit I suppose
I throw the tissue to the floor
It flies like a plane
Away from me
In vain for I am left behind
But not for you
You watch and learn
And fly away with it
The plane disappears
You are on it
I rest my sleepless head on a pillow
A tear has appeared
I smile
YOU ARE READING
Killing Lazarus
PoetryA collection of love poems that should have remained imprisoned in the deepest dungeon of my dying mind... Alas, they live...
