How his shoulders sag.
Pressed down,
trying to dig ruts in the road,
with collar bones.
Collar bones of deep rich color,
stooping low to greet the street.
You seem...
crunched up like a flower,
in the hands of a young one.
What makes you sway like that,
a slow steady thing,
are you tottering on an edge?
Do you see the road he wanders.
How not a soul dares jaunt down it.
Such a barren wasteland does surround his travels.
With legs heaving, and shoulders a throb,
his mind gets covered with such a dense
confusing fog.
Can you see him stagger,
halt and reach from the ground
pick up another boulder of hurt,
and toss it up on the mound.
As the weight grew, his back curled,
Shoulders weighed down with the weight of the world.
