Free Hand #34

Moss gathers and the trees grow.

Under the pale blue sky. In the summer time,

the heart flows upwards and over into

the mouth, into the body. How my mind keeps

spinning, talking, creeping until words

are strained, weakened and colorless.

There under the trees, laying flat on my back

I wait for the worms to eat me up.

My words to become soft echoes in the forest.


If you are reading this Thank You for taking time out of your day to read my writing!

I hope that you will return in the future!


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