Siren song sweeps me under,
Yanking a fistful from my
Beating heart, leaving behind
A senseless quivering lump-
Weak from wailing.
YOU ARE READING
The Secret Life of Thought
PoetrySometimes we don't say a word because our mind is too full of them. These pages hold just a few of those.
Undertow
Siren song sweeps me under,
Yanking a fistful from my
Beating heart, leaving behind
A senseless quivering lump-
Weak from wailing.
