Confessions
from you create soft
pain, stick me
on gray streets
with orange guns, staring at
me and killing me.
Confessions
from you create soft
pain, stick me
on gray streets
with orange guns, staring at
me and killing me.
Depression, recovery, Shadorma
This entry was posted on July 22, 2018, 5:46 pm and is filed under Poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through RSS 2.0. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.
Blog: |
Stillfugue |
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Fiction, Poetry, Essays |
#1 by clinock on November 28, 2018 - 12:59 am
Strong images, i want to paint it