Plucking and snipping at my chordae tendineae
Futile efforts of resuscitating its dull thrum.
The softshell of my unblemished interior,
Its remains were scarred, stabbed and scabbed.
Battered raw, I was anything but an afterthought.
VOUS LISEZ
Raindrops
PoésieThis is a collection of poetry that contains themes and topics loosely related to one another; some light-hearted and some heavier in nature. But be certain that you will find at least one of them that will resonate with you.
