There are no words I discover.
Breathing on the inside.
Not like me to simply wait.
But stories do not move;
as thoughts do in waves.
No not as important as the keys. From which breathing inside.
In the eyes that taste
like you can see the
attic's forgotten gods. Each summer I get closer to...I could vanish completely.
Bleeding on the inside.
-
Author:
ReflectionShadow (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 15th, 2019 11:13
- Comment from author about the poem: At a recital of nether realm properties.
- Category: Special occasion
- Views: 16
Offline)
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