I wrote the words

My blood spoke

I gave them air

Freedom to live

I wrote them all

On a brick wall

In bright colors

To catch your eye

But you walked by

Not caring at all

And a storm came

To wash them away


I tried again to write

Using fat black ink

Felt marker on glass

Words greeting you

Upon your reflection

Mirroring wishes

Tattooing your image

With sentiments told

But you wiped them away

With the back of your hand


I began to feel my blood

Speak in anxious tones

I couldn’t figure out

How to reach your soul

So the words leaked out

Wasted and spent

As tears tried to heal

Words I had scratched

Into my wrinkled flesh

My last words etched

Never to find purchase

In a world too busy

To read the writing

On the wall


She can’t see through walls. And all the glass is painted black. The only light she has left is found deep inside.

She feels her way through skin and bone and turns herself inside out. Somehow she’ll find that part of her that will deliver her from the dark.




3 thoughts on “THE WRITING ON THE WALL

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