V.

Life runs on love.
I ran out long ago.
Now I run on fumes,
a trail of black smoke.
Desparate for shelter
to lick my wounds.
The scent of weakness
attracts hungry wolves.
Finding in myself
that last piece of coal.
Don't tell me now,
how the story goes?

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s