deepundergroundpoetry.com
THE SHALLOWS
We die a life devoid of third dimension.
Love's angry dialects spoken sans convention.
Just bitter tongues that sing stabbing curse.
Vintage hate our chorus, and too our verse.
And now hearts bleed a slaughtered hope.
Us, empty souls left to somehow tolerate, cope.
Love's angry dialects spoken sans convention.
Just bitter tongues that sing stabbing curse.
Vintage hate our chorus, and too our verse.
And now hearts bleed a slaughtered hope.
Us, empty souls left to somehow tolerate, cope.
Published 8th Aug 2017
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Anonymous
21st Aug 2017 3:12pm
the shallows are an aching place to be...this ink resonates and is felt
xoxo Taryn
xoxo Taryn
24th Aug 2017 7:00am
