Living Prose
The truth-is-better-than-fictional bits.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
Stuck.
Feet kicking but
My body's in the air,
Toe tips just brushing the pavement,
Maddening, can't run
Toward you
Or away, surrendering
Means falling limp against
Nothing, not even
A cold
Hard surface
To hold me
As I fall, finally,
Asleep.
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