The object to the ashes.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

My dog died while my parents where on vacation last month and I haven't posted any of my writing about her. Im still having trouble writing about it so I'll probably be posting some here and there.

This bag of ashes means more than the world to me. But the fix it has given has long been deplete. Absolutely feel like I'm talking to an object. Not her beautiful, glowing fur. Gone with no logic. Watched her lay on the floor while a Stanger destroyed the peace I'll be left without. No longer employed to the meaningless companies that required so much drought. Here come the tears, now begins the endless pout.


Submitted: August 05, 2015

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