Cold Hands


An hour here, an hour
there. The pennies ebb
like tides, but someone pays
or no one rides for free.
It doesn't matter anymore,
this pride of win or place
is all a show, all the depth
of void if you ask me.

Feel free,
I'm not annoyed.

No more of that. I'm only tired
of the silent spaces whispered
in between the beat of busy days
when I remember laughing years
and masks of smiles that covered
tears for what we knew was real,
but gave no voice.

So fine, I made my choice,
and I know yours. You'd
watch me fall, you
wouldn't lift me up.

It's comfortable in your big house.
My jewels tarnish in your account.
What did 30 years amount to anyway?

The other best friend cleans the rooms
while you assume that all is right:
your sins dance on a pinpoint,
mine fill hell.

I wonder if you ever feel
the winter swell inside
your busy, empty palms.

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byAngeline© 13 comments/ 3492 views/ 0 favorites

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