footprints – The Light is On

Walls that Speak

Into the cracks in the walls, crawling like ice on the face of a corpse, the words come and go sometimes...

Skin pressed to a glass wall, flesh taken the shape of servitude and lungs filled with a feeling of dying...

I looked around at the fallen snow that lay over the city and saw beneath it to hidden grime, the sludge of years accumulated in unseen places...