he died yesterday
the fumes are high
forging rainbows in the greasy sidewalks of your bottom line
gnarled fingers claw for another life
but the opium reaches its boiling point
and I bet your throat is dry and nagging
until your entire resolve is mine
YOU ARE READING
Tearful Canvas: A Collection
PoetryA book of poetry. My very own twisted sanctuary - pieces of art, history, love, hate, and everything in between.
