One-hundred and Nine: Weak

Before I can stop it, a petulant pout pops out,
Spoilt and sad at the thought of maturity but
I’ve been a rock for so long that I am actually
just a thousand grains of sand, eroding rosily.
I cannot find anyone else’s footprints and I
would like to be weak, just once, just tonight.

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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