deepundergroundpoetry.com
2 inch cliff.
A school of floaters swim by
Random strokes wind up until down.
Dry pain burns the pupils with no classroom.
flames howl every fault.
No tears- a desert in my eyes, grit feels alive.
Un-common are the regulars up here inside the whites , lids as heavy as a prison gate
Cast off.
Random strokes wind up until down.
Dry pain burns the pupils with no classroom.
flames howl every fault.
No tears- a desert in my eyes, grit feels alive.
Un-common are the regulars up here inside the whites , lids as heavy as a prison gate
Cast off.
Published 25th Jul 2017
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