the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Punching For Studs

Under weak legs, this concrete floor felt like a bounce house
In which a devilish child broke every jump and I sunk to my knees.
And from giggles to gargles, I found my seat on deflating leather
With the consistency of a dying sea
Tossing and turning in a tempest of honesty.
She was falling asleep during her final rights,
Sick at the thought that she was finally wrong,
A feeling of weakness that was never so strong.

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