Blindly scouring the barren lands,
Unmade nails once bloodied
Now carry the dust of desperation
As the cracks and lines grow.
I search the scrapyard
Of the Lost and the Fallen,
Looking for another soul
To match the one pocketed.
I go on – reluctantly
Answers become questions
And bloody knees know
When to stop
But the head does not
Stop
Scouring
The scrapyards
Of the Lost
& the Fallen
