The stone that's not once touched, buried within my roots,
Just a burnt black orange,
The grass now crisp, and its still yellow. the treetops,
Done over again and again,
Chomp chomp
It's orange,
Hurry, hurry, it's hurting,
It's a burning black orange,
How do you hold the torch?
It's burning, scorching,
You better hurry, cause we're close to dying.
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
