Freedom is like writing sonnets
without having restrains...
Waiting To Be Found
I was dropped without a thought...
Red is my color
my fragrance is sweet...
An ice cold heart,
as hard as the rocks...
People have picked me up
from a dusty shelf...
-
I...
Do you think that I could forget you?
That I could murder all the moments...
---
because i think if i say it enough times...
I have tied my past to my ankles.
Birthed from a frail mother...
Saturday mornings
were made for bowls of Fruity Pebbles...
I get home, and all that croaks
is my couch when I vouch for its pain...
'Do you remember...