In the archive of ink & yellow trees the heart is pumping
Blood
Which worms its way through narrow
Veins
Until it leaks out from fractured
Skin
And a borrowed quill brushes
LIFE.
The pain sounds more like a cackling
Flames
And you wonder what you did to deserve such
Laughter
It’s not your fault, it’s not my
Fault
We are simply the hostages of something
BIGGER.
The world will slip through your
Fingertips
And you’ll let the wet tears scratch your
Eyes
As those you love swallow the salty
Remains
Of their stories being reduced to
ASH
Unless you find a blade sharp enough
and SINK