Abandoned Bike

The bike, now a rusted, forgotten memory, is half degraded into the soil.

Wheels once whirred, and handles were once handled, but now as still as stone.

The bell enchanted with the memories, screams and how many times it was rung before the bike came to lie. Accidents happen…

Ridden into a storm, and never back out again, its spokes at odd angles, pointing to bad places.

Once polished perfect, cutting through the wind and ridden with laughter, now blank and berried.

Cogs clanking like cluttered emotions and chrome peeling like no ones business.

ELLIOTT Ψ