Hollowed out, bare
Like the chamber of a seashell,
Nothing but the resonating ambience
of the blood circulating, inside my own noisy mind.
Wherein behind it, maggots scurry about yielding daggers,
Sounding like rain, to you, cacophonous, to me.
I could give you a million colorful adjectives,
And all you would see is twelve shades of gray.
I could sing a
(
Read more... )
Comments 2
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment