TOO BLEACH the night
 every day / a mind
    spinning around
SOME days are rivers
loaded with white-capped
questions/she does it again
\to die forever within her
arms — always to be true/
         Growing up and
growing down so a little
thing  tearing at my friends
–the littlethings that kill
;; cupboard empty as we starve
  who you are : always knew
: growing up and coming down
so too bleached this night
tearing at my brain /every\
never spinning around
   are these little things
that kill.  

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

You must be logged in to post a comment.

%d bloggers like this: