A String of Cliches
The stillness of the sound
It’s feeding like a drip
Oh life’s a funny old thing.
Planes drone overhead
Seas lap dirty shores
It’s just a string of clichés.
My hands are bored
My heart’s overgrown
It doesn’t know where to go.
I’ve got a fissure inside
It gets deeper every time
Whenever I try to move.
Upwards and outwards
I’m scrambling upwards
And outwards…
Now…
And the crack is growing
It’s growing in
To me
Oh how do you stop
What’s already started?
How to stop a freight train?
Copyright © Nicola Noo | Year Posted 2011
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