It pops and clicks,
squeaking like the gears of an old clock
in need of oil and tender care.
They burn and ache,
pistons pounding in an old engine
on the verge of shutting down.
I cry and laugh,
wishing you were here,
forgetting you caused the crash.
YOU ARE READING
Little Nothings
Poetry***STUNNING COVER by @Repulsify, as commissioned through @InkCommunity 's Artlink Station!*** Things speak to us in different ways. For some, it's a small voice in our minds. For others, it's the things around us, weaving words into succession for s...
