I have scraped and scraped the ancient brick only to excavate skeletons of men past who used to have wine upon their lips and I feel as if I am one of them destined to a lonely death of addiction with a last breath I will address the weight of my state
I agree we're damaged goods from love lost or love misunderstood …anchors jammed into the cogs have screeched this to a halt. Oh murder this in me. Baggage that dragged me down so low Dregged out this from the bottom. Can it be washed clean? Or is it only in a dream where we can once again begin.
But as every brick like my wrongs stack One on one. I create my tomb Can this progress be undone. Habits deconstruct Treasures emerge from the muck. Cargo of a sunken ship whose port long forgot.
Remind me of it's destination and of the mercy in the waves. Stave off my desperation remind me of the winds, that carry me through. could these bricks upon excavation have a golden hue.