I miss ignorance. Was it really sun lighted innocence or a relapse my brain baits me to forget? Welcome to my house of ash the soot of melancholy smudges across my cheeks we, the lucky bereaved. most everything is red or charcoal to me. A spider is lonely on my calf I stare at the fangs of its chelicerae. Make me feel something more than just to bleed I gave a cold confession on linoleum chilled metal pressed my temple again ten tablets or ten memories and I swallowed them all the same. Sawyer S.
Tag: Mental health poetry