Free verse № 130
How Strange
I met a man once
He wanted my words
But didn?t say it;
He yearned for them
Without knowing.
He made a noise,
Perhaps it was his last cry,
Perhaps his
Typical emotional waterfall
Had made him
The messenger of Humanity.
So I wrote my words
On a piece of paper,
Folded it,
And began to hand it to him,
But his arm
Had already
Been wrenched
From his body.
7 comments
WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?
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