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Streams of paint
Bleed down
The sky
As battle cries
Blur, and fade
Like mistakes
The green
And brown
Of dying things
I know what
This is, but
I can't escape
My living
Memories
My other fate
So running
Through walls
Of gravity
I don't know
When to stop
Falling Until
Four walls
Painted by
My own hands
Tell me
How to breathe
Again.
YOU ARE READING
THOUGHTLESS │✔️
PoetryThe words The petals On a flower that Thrives by appearance Is only Will merely Be a flimsy Taste of what's inside Why price By the eyes The symmetry Of flawed beauty As though As most Are weighed by Thoughtless ideals For those Four arrows A sma...
