I'm not a natural at explaining these feelings. They come around like a stabbing knife in the middle of the night.
Slicing away that all that I made.
That wall that stayed.
Stayed to rid the pain of your daze.
Yet you played the game.
You played my strings now I'm grey.
YOU ARE READING
Maybe I'm crazy. Or worse Maybe I'm sane.
PoetryThis is just some odd and in short writes I've done through out the years.
