Old writing, old notebook, same old me.

There is a cold and constant rain that leaks through my bones
Holding me together, more life giving than my mediocre blood
And weakly beating heart. 
My frame is creaking despite its young age, worn down and
Falling apart from the inside out. 

May the ground hold my bones better than I ever did.

Reviews

[Lorry]

Yeah, you are a writer. For such a short piece, you certainly paint a very vivid picture with your words, that leaves the reader relating to the foreboding feel of life that feels so alien yet strangely familiar to our/ some minds.
The shortness of the piece along with the language used compliment each other well and urges a second read. Nicely captured.