You tap wicked fingers with broken nails, and torn skin to match the beating of your heart. Impatiently waiting for rain to come- So that you may dance sadly, and swiftly with the sound of droplets, and crackling thunder. Your toes spread beneath a tide of spilt tea, and stained dresses. As the sun spins on tip toes carefully, swiveling within the tangled branches of deceased trees in fields where wilted flowers fall from sky’s of crimson clouds, and shattered dreams. The sky leaks black hair, flowing with white threads swirling between thick locks, as the shovel rakes mud onto broken bones, and dissipating stories. Beyond time’s hidden covers you will find gardens of sorrows grown over graves of unsure, and condemned souls.
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