Fingertips.

My fingertips bleed;
But I reach for nothing.
Your cry is coarse -
And I somehow stand tall
As I fall to my knees.
If this whiskey
Doesn't take me;
Then I will crawl to the floor,
And wish for you once more.

I promise not to let go -
You can find me
Beyond my bleeding fingertips.





Poetry by John Ashleigh
Read 94 times
Written on 2016-10-21 at 21:08

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Kathy Lockhart The PoetBay support member heart!
Such powerfully vivid images created equally powerful emotions! Well done John!
2016-10-23