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Fingers
January 31, 2014
I reach out to save us,
what little remains of us
my heart breaks
pieces scatter
falling apart
even after we drift
memories so real
I reach out for them
hoping for the little comfort they might give,
but I lost my grip,
and through my fingers you slipped,
just like all the rest.
Over and over in my head
the words you said
in my mind
the same bitterness,
if only there was a rewind,
but I don’t have time to waste on you,
Dirty, dirty fingers reach, unclean, if only
I could be free of the memory.
© Anna B., Northville, MI
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