Untitled
Poverty drags me through the dust as a willing participant
Money flows through my fingers like water
I dig out slowly from the holes I have created
The rope swinging seductively
The silence of all my ghosts are deafening
That little voice of reason whimpers in the dark
All my doors are closed as I slam them with defiance
And the hungry winds swirl around me once more
Copyright © Darrell Hoover | Year Posted 2018
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