to the feelings
that we've had
an ode to the sunrise at the horizon

we live in shambles
a ghost of the world
a half choked lament
from what should have been a chorus
of praise to a glorious god in an
obtainable heaven

our footsteps
in these broken halls
are empty
and shallow
shuffling across
dusty rooms
tripping
on these feeble toes

when we fall
there is no hard crack of
the skull
just the steady and endless
float to the floor
of an alcohol numb body.

03/16/2012

Posted on 03/16/2012
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