Voice carries little sound anymore,
personalities split upon staggered sword,
caught within own swindled ward –
Don't know what my mood will be today,
a dirty colored array,
Would you help to make it change?
Didn't come with a form of warning –
thousand wishes to have emotional scars scrapped out for sorting,
.... I suppose that's how one gets to learning;
Though –
Something about who I was changed when hazel swooped mine,
arms carry such an effort for my own troubles laying benign,
not a fault that none carry for tears I reserve for waver times.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Aphrodisiac & a Loathing Place.
PoetryA collection of poetry that has been written from me (and my constant battle with wrecking insanity). Some will make sense; some will leave you with a big ole' question mark; but, like myself, not everything can be precise and make definite sense...
