'The Hollowing'
By christy
Night scatters its silver seeds as I listen to the slowing of your breath, relieved that you are sleeping, not speaking, not touching. Like a gutted tree sucked dry by all the years, my heart lies here rotting from the scars you carved there, not feeling, not caring that my thoughts walk on flimsy crutches, or that we don't love anymore. It just beats a weak and monotonous tune. In this stillness, I can't help but wonder if you hear the restlessness echoing within my breast. Written December 3rd, 2001 © on Dec 03 2001 07:49 AM PST 0 • 10
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"Night scatters its silver seeds..."