Becauseat the end of the day,
it's the four tear-soaked walls
that embrace my dead ravings
of getting fooled.
I broke myself into a thousand pieces
stained in blood,
and then picked those pieces
to create a saferoom
of startling laughter from the mirror.
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A/N: It's been a late update, but I guess I can see some kind votes and lovely comments, can't I?
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the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
