Sad Poems: Sometimes We Cry

 her footsteps simmer quietly. idling at the ostensible junctures between inertia and momentum. 

the world is stale candy and hollow skins. bereft of everything that once made us hunger. 

she opens the closet to access the machine. a stale device more apparition than engine. 

the long road whispers her name. falling leaves on a path that has no destination. 

she crawls inside its cage. and turns the key to wake it up. letting its lies wash over her. 

predation is a pendulum. it swings its blade in both directions. 

all her words are borrowed from thieves and corpses. 

time makes its creases in our flesh. 

but they're rarely permanent.