Sitting on a stock pile looking for a way to sell witout selling my soul.
Much like mine own, Thow tongue spawns wonder, with every word you breathe, My heart make mimic of thunder, Mayhaps fool's paradise,
By Lisa Craddock7 years ago in Poets
One day, I’ll stop looking for your messages, Eventually, I’ll realize they aren’t going to come, Perhaps one day when you are reminiscing about the fools who have loved you,
Sick of being dark and cold, I want to stand in the light Where I can absorb the energy I need To keep fighting this fight,