Behind your face was cleaver releasing past poem. The sensual milk flows from the palm into your lake. Grieving for the torn wings of pink light. Cruising on thighs with eyes closed death utters a shriek. The eternal flame closes
the day seems to be a little brighter the old smile i can feel returning to my face. the sun is orange. and not darkened over by my lack of self worth. the caterpillars that were in my stomach, turned
Its a different kind of heartache Where tears dont flow, Its a different kind of pain Which people dont choose to show, Its the thing which people dont understand Untill they stand at our place. They keep judging us Without
When logic and intuition stood on edge of time, sugar was dancing on the salt lake. I would not see the torn book between retreat and assault. I was reining in the new moon. In a night raid, five peacocks
Pain fills my room, Sweat and fear surrounds me. I will cry if I move But I have no choice. We are learning to walk, Go up and down stairs. We are all grown children Being taught to survive. You’re
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