Concrete

it’s trapped
that imprint lingers
like fluttered impulses
rising from fingers

lightly it sips
catching your eye as you pass
if it rips
it may not last

the ink flows
like blood in bones
unique and bold
it suits one's soul


picking the right spot
with nothing to numb
pain endured will rot
but only to some


once at rest
it will not crumble away
some think it’s a distractive mess
artwork is subjective