There is this inkling...
Something I can't quite grasp,
But I used to.
Now it smears
Like poisoned blood?
Is this the new me?
It dries so quickly.
I wait in the open for so long.
A taste to turn.
I get a grip
On myself;
Rip up the unseen pain.
Fresh blood quickly imprints on my longing footsteps.
I will rewrite the farthest sour tree.
YOU ARE READING
Midnight Blue
PoetryA midnight blue that becomes a blue midnight... ━ Highest rank: #1 - darkpoetry, #1 - darkpoems Cover Design: MIST BISHOP ┃ W MistElix-ir15
