First draft, stream of consciousness poems... "not real" because they are unfinished, unprofessional snippets.
Friday, July 27, 2018
Darkness cold and bitter blue
escapes her lungs,
her cracking lips,
as amber eyes fade before her
and jagged howls of laughter purge the air of hope.
She floats, she falls
to nothingness -
to coldness,
harsh and fading red.
No comments:
Post a Comment