library angel
poet. artist. a mysterious third thing.
poetry (ignorable)
mothlord
faces petrified in trees
stunted commuter souls
whose suffering lines the village green
distorted by hot coals
frail, uncherished countryside
dying in my arms
who took your ancient branches
and turned them into farms?
drawn in by a moonbeam
and swallowed by the earth
i hope the forest eats you all
destroys your place of work
i don’t know what i’m worth
the robins are robins
just cause they say they are
i sleep outside in a cardboard box
my shoes keep catching fire
it’s the only bird to ever fly
the only plane to crash
a missing flight between your eyes
a library on your back
drawn in by a moonbeam
and swallowed by the earth
i hope you let it get to you
your sacrifice to her
i don’t know what i’m worth
Library Angel 