The ones who hold things back, firmly,
And live forever with an ocean of pain and memoirs—
Lack the ones who can hold them back.
They love them with all grey hearts;
Until when frost buries them
Under its brown boots.
YOU ARE READING
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 ||
