we are all little nothings standing on the edges of frayed seams
sand and letters play on the breeze too much dust to sneeze away these fingers thicker than air can't stop the strain at all so much to let go of now when was it ever this hard? one person can mend it all one person can shatter your legs wavering on splinters this is the only way the road to recovery begins with red puddle landmarkers
listening to and understanding, different things that you don't want to hear ah, but here, now that's a better place to let go of sometimes in the din of fans blowing i hear silence i wake there to find that everything is not as it was little shifts and ripples can upend even the best day
to dissuade now to trip forwards to extinguish to lay down dead to let everything go sometimes it's over sometimes it's tragic sometimes these things are sometimes weaklings win sometimes i can't move whatever happens will whatever fails can stop whatever begins is new whatever slips can slide whatever end may come
© 9-7-05 Molly Miles