Starcrossed

It’s ironic, he thinks, that he’s washed-up and dried like a man who has lived for too long, but he still feels dirtier than the underside of his sandals. He can’t tell whether the crinkled on his skin are from laughing at others or from some force of nature trying to cross him out of existence.

Criss, cross, and the lines run over his body.

He has beds prepared on every elevated hill, but even so, the place he lies in is never his own. He never sleeps alone anymore.

Tonight, as the evening fades to grey, he watches the outline of clouds as they drift by, and waits for someone to descend and take him home.

Advertisements

Blah blah blah

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 )

Google+ photo

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

Connecting to %s