Seven, eight and nine.
I always thought the burden was mine.
She told me her name,
yet cried all the same.
Ten, eleven and twelve.
I can still hear sleigh bells
near to where the snow fell.
Sawyer S.
Tag: death
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I perfected the practice of living in blackness This smile of plastic They ask why I'm distracted and obsessed with sadness but I hold my tongue. They can't fathom an emptiness of the gut or the only joy being a bite of tobacco in the lungs. Spring has Sprung, You Rest in Peace. whilst we puddle into pieces puzzled by all of the missing pieces. How could you leave us? Sawyer S.
Addict Brain Poetry by Sawyer 