Trickle

Trickle down, broken crown. Broken hope that was placed so high. How beautifully that hope dies as it is shattered by itself. Raining pieces of harsh reality upon my head. I shower in my failure constantly and gasp for some relief. Leaning upon life’s knife till my back is cut with reason. I would sigh with content from the knowledge of racing blood upon that blade. Blessed relief found, even if understanding is lost.

-OM

  

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