A Salt Whispered Shore
Guilt trips riddled through doors
with the premise of selfishness.
Whispered prayers hushed past ringing ears,
clutching fingers made of white plastic.
Cold, lifeless plastic without an affection.
Bargains made to dull the reminder,
that one bit of consciousness,
the last bit of fight.
Swallow hard to relieve the taste so bitter,
clinging to the backs of tongues and throats.
There are broken bones much less breath-taking,
ailments of the stomach less painful,
missing limbs less compromising.
This trouble of a heart,
of a mind.
The aid in something much too dangerous.
A cycle in which to break free means much more than
a new routine.
with the premise of selfishness.
Whispered prayers hushed past ringing ears,
clutching fingers made of white plastic.
Cold, lifeless plastic without an affection.
Bargains made to dull the reminder,
that one bit of consciousness,
the last bit of fight.
Swallow hard to relieve the taste so bitter,
clinging to the backs of tongues and throats.
There are broken bones much less breath-taking,
ailments of the stomach less painful,
missing limbs less compromising.
This trouble of a heart,
of a mind.
The aid in something much too dangerous.
A cycle in which to break free means much more than
a new routine.