18- mostly poetry
The blood runs down his hand dripping to the ground, A knife in one hand, a life in the other. Once ivory bed sheets, now stained a dark carmine.
By christina digioia6 years ago in Poets
Part Nulla: The Forever Changing Seasons of Life The seasons change almost as quick as your emotions. One day I am basking in your warmth.
My room is illuminated by only my computer screen. The blank page taunting me as the cursor blinks faster and faster. God all I want right now is to be in your arms.
I am at a loss for words. As I have lost the inspiration for my madness, The words written are less truthful than before.
An aura resembling the warm embrace of the sun, brings a sense of comfort to those who may need it. It is the lens which those who look through,
I open a fresh carton of Newports and place one in between my teeth, Pulling out my lighter to spark the end. The cool drag of the smoke slides down into my lungs,