My first act of revenge was not spiked filled words Not wilted roses blooming in dark rooms Not a deer in the headlights Not the excess of people watching a line go up It has been water etching sand A heart that is in pieces is a rabid dog foaming
Honestly, there is only so much time that we have on this earth. Something like 4,000 weeks. This means that even if I want to share every single thought I have ever had, it's not possible to do that without engaging with our feudal tech lords. Even
And that's OK!
Un poems en español. A poem in Spanish. That's the language the muse hit.
It's not a poem, but a complaint.
Subscribe now I have never demanded perfection Not even from myself Some wounds begin in the flesh and end in the soul It is why I cry over spilled milk And when a story pierces through the veil Ghosts do not only haunt you from the outside Some of them
Change, it never ends.
What is a poem in a world at war?
How many more productive years do you have in you?
I have written this poem a million times before. In my head, and at least a few times on some of my public poetry.
Love, love, love...
Short and Sweet