Clamping your hand on my words, closing the pathetic rumbles of terrors.
Revolting like a gun changing bullets, you can't control what's goes out.
Fear for the ones who are under the gunpoint, but a relief once you realized it's not pointing at you.
Sure it's sick, but that's how you survive.
To be quiet and watch.
YOU ARE READING
Out Of Order
PoetryPerturbed. Anxiety awaits those who can't distinguish between actions or emotions, therefore never implying what she thought was important. Animosity. Apart from her balancing on the tight rope, resentment tipped her over and down she goes. Deep int...
