oxymoron.
my distracted focal point
those unconsequential consequences
these tattered perfections
the frostbitten sun
and
that thin metal armor of steel
those are all that I want
or what I need, perhaps,
to finished the Undefined
The Unknown
or, maybe…
my love letters to your vacant mailbox
which still stands by your broken residence.
YOU ARE READING
untitled.
PoetryStars and painted candlelights are the only things that bother to keep me sane, these days. But it's okay. I know you're trying. (My first posted poetry collection)
