As I walk across this tainted bridge
I can hear it crumble with my every step
In the dust a reflection of my memories
Stored in little particles that once sparkled
In them i see everything yet nothing
My feet hit the broken wood
Shooting up dusts of pain
Absorbed in the timeline gashes
painted on the soles of my feet
I have nothing now...
YOU ARE READING
Ink Spills
PoetryThoughts of a frantic insomniac presented to you as picture perfect poetry snippets when in actuality they were flight of thoughts transformed into ink spills... Enjoy! ^.^ Copyright © 2015
