Urban Meditation #8
Above the endless pits and hollows
of the city, the memory of you scars me
as blades do on skin. These words drip
like blood on the page. But, it might just
be me who’s still stuck, hurting.
Above the endless pits and hollows
of the city, the memory of you scars me
as blades do on skin. These words drip
like blood on the page. But, it might just
be me who’s still stuck, hurting.