Dust

How on earth can I live when I want to be free?

I’m enclosed in a ghost of a shell, the remnants of mortal combat, sand dances in

the air as feet play thunder on the ground.

His hands are modest when they play the song of passion on her soft skin,

Warm and glowing

Sturdy hands still grip him from past demands. Scars where swords had ripped

him…

Trace a finger down the white lines, past memories fall like tears through the sky

And shatter.

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5 thoughts on “Dust

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