But faded quickly as the sand-filled skies
Seeped in past my windows
And my mind
Quiet and sombre
Like a funeral procession
One fiery tongue was made known
Presenting itself in the waning morning hours
And then another
And even more still
Until the day filled up
With the bitter taste of battery acid
And only
Escape
Could soothe the burns remaining
And act as the salve to take the pain away.
When the morning tastes
Like the blade of a scythe
The only release is the death of the day
Found in the starlit darkness of night.
Here I sit in the quiet
When the day has found it's end.
T
T
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