I cry tears
That never make it to the ground
Into me they fell
Weightless acidity
They swallow my sensitivity
Filling my insides to the brim
They turn the air around me
Breathless
And absorb whatever time it is
Magnifying my numerous regrets
With clear and honest luminosity
Heaving over sobs like a xylophone
Accumulating into a desperate crowd
Like a churning sea pounding
Forever inside my expanding chest
But not once have the drops
Ever made it to the ground
An amazing image of regret. And, if those tears should reach and water the ground, what blooms might spring from that?
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Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
HASTY – Tears falling only so far
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