Friday, July 17, 2009


Everything crumbles,
Everyday is a hustle
Every waking moment
Is a nightmare.

Wishing she could get away,
Just for a day,
Wishes every hour,
Would pass,
In the blink of an eye.

Her problems,
Her issues,
Her tears,
Are running dry.

Her life,
Is like crumbs,
In the dust.

© thelma migue, 2009

1 comment:

  1. Succinct...there comes a time when tears run harden...