Matthew Eayre



Is just another place to hide

nobody will ever know
if I’m showing it all
or if I’m holding part back

I throw out my heart with the trash
and hang myself on the line,
just a sheet waving in the wind
it looks like the water here
isn’t getting the laundry clean

in pieces, on the wall and ceiling
my intentions and my hopes
splattered and scattered after the
shotgun blast shattered my metaphor

that wouldn’t be fair
no matter how little there is to display
the love I am given must be reflected

being open and honest
covers up the shadows cast by
memories of being just a bit
over the line of criminal behavior
not a saint nor a savior
they will never see what I had chosen to be
in the shoes I wore then
if I can carry my eyes to a camera

View original post 82 more words

Author: Kindra M. Austin

Author of fiction, poetry, and very sweary social commentary. Editor and writer for Sudden Denouement, Whisper and the Roar, and Blood Into Ink. Founder of One for Sorrow. Founding member of Indie Blu(e).

One thought on “Dance”

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