Sometimes this cracked wall turns
its blind eyes on me, my body
weighted down by the mattress
carrying the floor.
I dream of a quiet life
beneath this world. A life
that goes on slapping against rocks,
wearing stone down to its splinters.
In my room, waiting is everything.
The mold on the wall draws a snowman
while it waits for the crumbling
built into my life to begin.
📸: Techno Pova Neo.
Nice use of imagery. I've got a picture of the mold snowman in my head
😂. Now when I look at it, I will remember you.
You've received an upvote from the Blockchain Poets account. Thank you for submitting your poem to our community!
Thank you for the kindness 💚