The Crucible Chamber
Apr 23 · 1 min read
A poem
My footprints disappearing beneath weary bed of green. The plump moon hiding behind a cigarette veil. Red rose between shaky fingers succumbs with bending spine browning, wrinkling from within. Petals stolen by desolate wind falling with ash until forgotten. And I would go to you but this barren night mocks the crucible chamber, my broken womb
