345. 25/11/15 (#338)
Falling flat, straying so far from
Simple, sharper ways.
Still stumbling over broken,
Breaking, brighter days.
Crushing! Curling through me,
Thorns pierce my pining heart!
Blood! Rushing, rising!
While this weathered wretch falls apart.
Slowly, softly, though lacking form,
Some sweet sound sleeps despite the storm,
And falls unconscious across my ears,
With whispers, grants golden song of tears,
And leads me into lying, letting,
My senses go.