I'm overstepping into holes
Trying to find a hand to hold.
I'm directing traffic,
It's getting old.
The whispering trees.
The moon is gold.
But then rustling leaves explode
In a burst of words
I should've known.
You fire empty shells, but I don't respond.
It's dead,
But still you fire on.
You point this gun in every direction
And your selfishness is my resignation.
1 comment:
My blog feed doesn't update your posts anymore. This is really irritating.
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