My heart's an intricately cracked slab of concrete delegated to the patio of your great grandmothers hundred and fifty year old house left to fall apart the day she died in the silence of her once elegant, country, Georgia home. Every chip in the concrete is symbolic of a lover that has taken a chunk of me with them. Some larger than others, respectively to the time and love I invested, hopeful it would be enough. But, it's never been enough. My eyes once a prized possession, shiny, bright, and full of youthful desire, are now worn scratched and dulled like an old knife, now neglected and pushed far to the back of that junk drawer you never open, but to search for something that was most likely found in a much more obvious place. Dark, gloomy, and lonely, my eyes rest far beyond your need for them. My breast's are beaten, used, lathered in age, longing for innocent vigor and care, like the set of double doors falling from the depreciated shed in your backyard. Aband...
Poetry, prose, essays, and art.