We were 5 and 7
when mornings tasted...
Give an inch, take a mile,
deceived by lowly banter...
Flimsy shoe
stroke from below...
people only type
in contrasts...
Sleep, what's that?
As the Sun wanes and its last rays flow dimly...
He flies
his tattered kite...
It satisfies the soul to step back occasionally
and roam the smaller town main streets...
In your heart-I am there....
flawed and fair...
Medication
Is not illumination...
Failure is written on stone
while success is recorded...
Children are crying
parents anxiously searching...
The world outside is inaccessible to her-
index cards plastered onto skin with...