Ants travel back and forth through the floor joints.
A life this small could fit in the palm of my hand.
A soul so tenuous would get lost in my fingerprints.
In a city so small, the headlights of the trucks could be mistaken for the moon.I can sense their industriousness, yet their work is meaningless to my eyes, just like my work is meaningless to the eyes of God.
YOU ARE READING
Avoidance
PoetryCompulsively searching the right words. Cherrypicking through the dictionary. Maybe it's an inconscious attempt to understand who I really am.
