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Literature Text
She took up a handful of the dirt.
It was dry,
crumbled through her fingers.
Bony fingers, spidery hands.
Like a moth,
She’d broken through a shell,
Fragile and vulnerable,
Terribly torn from the inside out.
It was cold.
The way that broke through your bones,
nestled up against your chest,
made you shiver with each deep breath.
Like the moon,
Slivers of her cut open the sky,
Standing alone,
Wishing she didn’t stand out.
It was dry,
crumbled through her fingers.
Bony fingers, spidery hands.
Like a moth,
She’d broken through a shell,
Fragile and vulnerable,
Terribly torn from the inside out.
It was cold.
The way that broke through your bones,
nestled up against your chest,
made you shiver with each deep breath.
Like the moon,
Slivers of her cut open the sky,
Standing alone,
Wishing she didn’t stand out.
I've been looking over this the past few days. Been very busy with poetry and writing right now. Just nothing I feel like posting 'til this.
© 2014 - 2024 artlover455
Comments7
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This is good
