poetry

dominoes

black and white and stark

against fading paper skin

tumbling, knocking over

walls and shields too thin

clock hands moving backward

dust returns to dust

scrambling to take cover

from a world that wants too much

black and white and broken

battles left behind

though some days are better

it’s never truly fine

hush, hush hands are grabbing

the words I’ll never say,

never really knowing

if it’s worth another day.

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