I'm sick with it
Sick of this strange need
to be seen
To make contact
with a stranger
-a simple smile and
simple gaze exchange-
somehow becomes the highlight of my day.
Death and decay,
in brilliant shimmering hues,
scattered around by shifting breaths
of a tormented earth,
unable to hold onto it position,
unable to grasp onto its reality-
being mindlessly flung,
round and round and round
a fiery mass.
COMMENTS
-