Wooden Carts
By Archived Story
Posted in Literary | No Comments
This break has launched newly created struggles into my lungs.
Your appetite for curiosity forms scabs on my knees, sore and
Shaken from plummeting to them for support in a sobbing convulsion.
Words suffocate to death in my throat when you force down pearly
Gates with your reason of irrationality, preventing the escape,
Escape of these bleeding shouts.
They bleed for you, an aqua hue that you’ll recognize in your backstroke
Away from me through an ocean of forgetfulness. I feel like dying
Whenever we talk on the phone. More like, you talk, I just listen. …



