Slow wilting is what it is called
Then he sent me out the door
Not even a pat on the shoulder
Now nothing is like it was before
Because of this slow wilting
Now my arm is the only thing straight
It presents itself like a ghost
Before death occurs and without face
That scribbles over the world
Defaceless grafitti everywhere
Filling my tear ducts with pearls
For not finding any of it legible
Where a mind is to go from being
Sister to a flower all its life
To becoming the pathetic version of a flower
Was beyond this particular human here
Published by Richard Q
A human being-question chasing after both God and nothingness. The internet is a disaster, but our starlessness might teach us something. I welcome our constant experimenting with ourselves with open arms, for ultimately they are attempts of life at living and growing in life. My dwelling is in Key West, while the dwellings of my loves are Indiana, New Mexico, Texas, Massachusetts and Arizona. These spaces are nothing. Love abides and love embraces.
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Love the Dust 