jlortiz84

withered

Oh, the heart be empty by nightfall. Each morning it takes its fill. Devouring all that it can, knowing that it cannot hold on. Drip. Drip. Drip... goes its stolen contents. Withering back to its natural form. Refilling each morning until its prey is exhausted and can take no more.

  • Author: jlortiz84 (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 9th, 2017 13:12
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views:

Comments1

  • Mizzy

    Nice poem, If only it did refill



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