these locked feelings
like a tight fit glove going for the
deceit, lack of trust,
just like the color of rust.
running, flowing , a hotbed of blood.
your dishonesty, , not even the equivalent of love.
i dare you to show me this light,
i dare you to get me to
as i sit here holding this knife.
how do i begin this ?.
or do i even end
guess what, you lose ,
for only i hold the key to my own life.
why is the hour-glass still full ?, why is there just my own foot prints in the sand ?.
my shadow no longer fallows me .
can’t you see, can you even hear
i no longer wear the glove
on my hand,
first i must write my name
in the sand.