Carbon

I thought we could blend all of our smashed mirror dreams into some blue-grey cloud of transcendent accordance.

I forgot that I have keepers.


I send you butterflies or small birds while I am able.

I miss my old soul.
(I sustain myself with the carbon data of used sketch pencils staining my wrists and the frightened, haunted-eye knowledge that i will one day no longer have to be a doe in the headlights

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

Life has a habit of throwing nasties our way. Being a doe in the headlights of an oncoming car is not a comfortable place to be. Startling for the doe and could lead to its demise.

I pick up my pen when I want to escape the reality of what's going on around me. It concentrates my mind so I don't go to places where I would rather not travel. I'll take the butterflies and birds rather than the bombs and bullets. Your poetry is thought provoking Ranger.

Chris

[Ranger Kessel]

Thanks for the read