you don't write with led
you write with my DNA; my bloodstains and bloodshot eyes, that wakes every time i hear you call. you write love letters to the lonesome
and my hands have done the work
so go ahead and smile
black eyes, bruises and all
at least i'm no less of a human being
than a person who chooses never to have empathy for one.
YOU ARE READING
stars • poetry
Poetry{stars} "she was carried to land from the stars up above where heavenly angels learn about love and although she was grateful her wings began growing a dark faded color that was in its last brewing she had turned on the good and made peace with the...
