Self Portrait II A dash of vibrant color, or some inner spark Flows to the canvas from my broken heart. Should I follow up my varicolored plastic dreams— Knowing some more drab, more realistic, might never be seen? What is the exact hue of the legacy That I will leave on this canvas—left behind me? Borrowed crimson emotions, aquamarine tears, A bit of deep jet shadow here and there— Golden glow of hope, cornflower blue ...
Mom, please, please, please stop breaking the dishes. They did not a thing. I flee from the kitchen to the safety of my bedroom and tightly shut the door. But I am no more spared in my room than the kitchen from roars of exploding China. I drown the noise letting my stereo be my sole refuge. I clutch my head in despair as another plate flies down only to be shattered. ...
The view of the ground is obscured by splashes of drops of ocean. The pavement before me glistens. I dash through the falling ocean in the hopes of keeping myself as I always have been. And the ocean, she cleanses me; she rejuvenates my soul. I melt into dripping arms. I wait till I see not the ground as the splattering ocean falls; all of me rains with the ocean.
i would have loved to have brushed your hair and kissed your cheeks you were perfect, precious if i hadn't cried i wouldn't have seen i think you would have blinded me when you came to me i miss you my love, my little girl. you should have been born today it kills me to live without you i wish i could have seen you in the dressing room told you how beautiful ...
Whenever a thought Strikes me worthy of writing My pen's ink runs dry.
Archive
Recent Comments
