Sunday, November 1, 2015

Skeleton in my home.

Thoughts,
Came rolling in,
As clouds,
On a rainy day.

Pain,
Crumbled me,
To the ground,
As the last piece,
Fell.

Hits,
Flew across,
The room to anyone,
With heart for literature.

Hurting,
Is supposed,
To make us better,
Meaningful.

Death,
Was not,
The question,
Answer nor salvation,
Missed.

Skeletons,
Live here,
Where you,
Should have been.

I hope you are now as free as the birds you loved to watch fly,
As the words that keep you alive flow,
I hope where ever you are, you are.
















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