here's what happened
fog and brain, ribs and rain
I moved apart from winter but found snow and ash
in hideaways where reddish
gnomes mined for fragments
of fractured illusions
the mirrors of my haunted corners
cracked in angles only
they could read, the maps of our indiscretions
oh, suspicion
my arrows aimed for buttercups but
pricked the shades we crafted
and shone light in turn refracted
spilling bits for reddish
gnomes to claim as theirs
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Poems for Morbid Children
الشعرThis is a collection of some of my more curious and macabre poems. Many of my poems play with words, the sounds and shapes of them. However, I often attempt to delineate emotion and sensation I cannot otherwise word, or I take inspiration from legen...
