Fragile pinpoints, / So delicate it's gently skinned, / Blood washed out, / stuck in winter frozen rivers.
One by one, against soft skin, pinpricked, / The gentle, snow-white.
The unnoticed raised texture, / Of pale faded stress of memories.
Gentle blood drops, / Long since down the drain. / A winter's harsh way, / Of dumping autumn out of my skin.
Carved mountains against, / Heaving gorges, / Rooted below the water bed, / The stressed pinpricks autumn's red.
YOU ARE READING
When Sanity is Lost
PoetryAnd I just couldn't stop, before I knew it I was picking the pen up again. My second book in process this is soon to begin editing once my last one is done. As always hope you enjoy and find my insta @these.are.true.feelings
