Capitulation

Despair is a cave I climb in,

large enough only to hold me when I am at my smallest,

curled upon the hollow inside me,

a Russian nesting doll of emptiness,

save for paroxysms of grief

torn from the throat,

which might be mistaken for

laughter devoid of mirth.

Advertisements

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 )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ 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