• nleroy8 58w

    clay

    i have had my clay in the wrong hands
    molded and scorched was their plan
    my strings plucked to their harmony
    a sun could show you the shadows
    that control me
    but the night hides everything
    the flicker of light that is my voice
    choked, by dust that I keep shut
    now it is all i know, hoping no one
    voodoo’s me, waiting for the spring
    to feel clean.