The world in your veins
the world on a spoon,
broken, they stand outside;
but cannot see the moon-
in loneliness they cry
to an empty sky-
violence created
from actions impure
but there is no peace
and there is no cure-
the pavement awaits to cradle your skull
alone you'll fly
and you'll finally feel whole.
YOU ARE READING
My Sweet Grave Digger
PoetryI use to have an anger so big, it could fill up any house. Poems from the garage attic.
