Old wounds,
Long dormant under layers of patchwork,
Kept company by the people I used to be,
Were busy
All those years.

Mere silhouettes in the abyss they were banished to,
A series.. of unfortunate coincidences
Bestowed terrible form.
Chains, chains forged of the immutable void itself
Crept, anchored to a newly broken heart
And pulled.

Years have passed quickly since then,
Without joys to savor time.
I traded so much,
Became so little,
To get away.

Poetry Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on August 29, 2016.

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