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The Waiting Game.
February 9, 2011
Your eyes are bright but your lips are chapped.
Fingers numb.
The hands of the clock move but you stay put.
Arms not moving, not one inch.
Your breath fogs the windows of that old beat up truck.
It's when you are alone when the bad things eat you alive.
They claw at you and scratch your heart.
Bleeding and beating.
Words spoken sound awkward.
Your voice is full while you feel hallow.
Like a dying tree in the summers heat.
Not an inch of rain, to drench it's thirsty roots.
Drink me up....I am waiting.
© Shannon R., Playa Del Rey, CA
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