Broke
The sand on the beaches are shining
Red and yellow, in the shadows
Of the trees it is cool and you will not
Get sunburnt. But the soul is burning,
And the air is so thick, it is like breathing in
tar, you are constantly talking
In a whisper.
The mind, although awake, is very black
And dark;
One could not see one's way around.
And since it is this way
In my world,
I am constantly picking pieces of me
Off the floor, and glueing them
Back together in my spare time.
Copyright © Justine Zingg | Year Posted 2006
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