Blunder.
It bled onto everything.
You.
Your wound;
Profuse,
And unstopping.
Your gaping hole,
Leaking,
Of this injured love.
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-
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Need.
Desperation was the voice of ache,
Parted between inflamed lips.
Where, those marks of fingerprints
Left behind on the picture frame,
Came to life inside of a sob.
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Young.
Tunnels of youth
Mirrored the meanders of men,
The bespeaks of a curiosity;
Timeless,
Irrelevant of age.
And holes, in eldered ground.
YOU ARE READING
To Feel
PoetryWords inspired by life events, arranged in such a way, that they often take reign over your heart.
