Have you ever wondered about the frailty of speech?

The way doomsday shakes the soul as death climbs within our reach.

A lovers quarrel like a prick of a rose,

The skin not a virgin to the thorns embedded

Talking the side I’m not… I dread it.


Speak to me of that what’s yearned,

Able to accommodate my heart it’s burned.

Touch me. I don’t feel it.

The numbness of my conscience like a horse with a bit.

a child I did not see

From the seasons I seen.

An innocence striped like a child unprotected

My soul you made me secreted.

I’m finding her.

I’m finding me.

My roots sprouting like the undergrowth of the tree.

But you hurt my heart!

Like wires taking IT, apart…

Where do I start to go when the worlds full of snow?

Zero degrees fending for myself with only a bow.


~ Z. Jay


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