My Cold Home

Tonight as I walked toward the certainty of expression unattainable

I found myself wanting to crawl into your socket-like craters

Away from the warmth and spotlight of that saccharin dying star

Away from the illusion of a smooth surface and a friendly face

To curl up in the bottom of your inhospitable shadows

And use your honest rocks as pillows

 

We cannot see from here what we have left upon you

Hardly scars compared to those empty orbits that never blink

But boot prints and claiming stakes and conquering dreams

Left our mark just the same and you cannot rid yourself of them

Glory gone, you continue pulling blood and words and water

And me, but I go willingly

~ by April on November 28, 2012.

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