The windows are boarded up,
I can't find anyone.
The crows follow me
Like death's minions.
Ease dropping on every word I speak
Every action on target,
A gun cocked to my very temple.
The crows circle,
Cawing in a clatter of misinterpretation.
Their mouths like rabid dogs
Foaming with eagerness to catch me
Off gaurd.
Picking out my flesh from their beaks
With the bones of my past,
To watch me slowly fade away
Into a pile of dismay across
The path I had no intention
Of following.
The crows are coming..
They are watching...
They are listening...
They are
Here
YOU ARE READING
Poems: Gade 12- Present Day
PoetryFrom another guy in the world, to you. Words that aren't spoken, but remain true. I hope you find comfort in my poetry too. A rusted connection to my reality, because honestly. I've lost it.
