of promisory sort

 

i don't suppose

its heavenly

to rest upon the likes of us

and fester in our brewing state

forgetting to regurgitate

the thoughts we're holding back

 from you

remorseful when

its past the time

to let old scars be plucked clear off

and muster up courageous speech

resenting every darkened leech

when bleeding first began

to stain

perchance there be

a melody

that reaches us, within our minds

with notes of promissory sort

resist the urge to scream, "abort!"

and opt, instead, for love

in truth

{polaroid : and bathing in our filth}

© kimberly k taylor, all rights reserved