Verses and swift rhymes are not meant to be written, not meant to be perceived by the eye, nor to be heard. Words must scream and cry and graciously cut, words live, and consume for beauty is found in rage. Immature. Untied and primitive, the first of our instincts. The only natural one left.
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You are the interpreter of my words, you are the one able to understand, and through your own sorrows you will be capable of giving life, to a simple set of rhymes.
Ps: real quick if you like what you see please follow youll make my day! ♡♡♡♡
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YOU ARE READING
When a mockingbird dies
Poetry[ There will never exist "perfect" as long as the human breathes] { There will never be "unique" as long as society exists and the word "fit in" roams through our tongues} ●There will never be a me as long as others surround my life● There will alw...
