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July 12, 2008
unfinished
In his head he roams the streets of his youth. Sitting in his hospital bed, a mere shadow of a man.
There is a glow to his skin where it holds the sharp edges of a his bones, and the words come in
a distant voice that seems echoes within him, muffled whispers, as his eyes still in their sockets move
to the same extent of his head in a measured motion.
And the life in him cowering inside, wounded, bloodied and damaged, holds on to the spreads of memories,
denying the urgency of his condition.
Posted by Idinraha at 10:06 AM | Comments (0)