Salty tears evaporate kindly,
reappear in stormy clouds,
standing on the pinnacle
screaming at a flight of birds
To hell with it.
I sit,
in the back pew, -space reserved
for lost souls.
I shiver,
grow near
to hold time’s hand,
no friend of mine.
I dig this grave,
stare into the tunnel,
God sees -appears jet black.
i run,
8 years and counting,
every face
jaws protruding,
lemon shot eyes.
*originally written and posted 1/11/2017
seasons: a poetic journey 
Full to the brim with great imagery, Jeanne.
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😄💛
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🙂 🙂
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‘lemon shot eyes’. love that
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😄💛
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Well lookee you, catchin’ up on your particle reading! :p
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🙃💛👍🏻 powerful thoughts and always fantastic!!
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*blushie!*
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I appreciate it Jeanne 😀
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Oh my…no problem. It is always a pleasure to read others thoughts and i find yours very unique. 😉🎊
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D’awwwww 😀
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