Out of practice; trying to get back in the habit
I have only one secret: a piece of me hidden with dirt.
When I walk through a city, the high windows brighten through noon. Blades of light poke at the people below. They tap on the skin, hoping for weakness and taking moments of life for their own. They assault, but my secret is kept in dirt, so the scrapings of the city's asphalt find nothing but a sad man. There is no life in me except what I've kept in the forest.
When I walk through a city, the high windows brighten through noon. Blades of light poke at the people below. They tap on the skin, hoping for weakness and taking moments of life for their own. They assault, but my secret is kept in dirt, so the scrapings of the city's asphalt find nothing but a sad man. There is no life in me except what I've kept in the forest.