Boomeranging.

I’d thought I’d left you
in my past along with trash
piled in a lost heap.

Truth hurts.

Frustrated by the silence
Repelled by his distance
Irritated by my reactions
Resigned to this fate.

Insecticide

Like moths to fire
burnt repeatedly by flame:
I flutter limply.

Previous Older Entries

Archives

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 263 other followers