Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
broken breath, I left it shivering on the stairs icicles as its innards burnt by frost now see fire engulfing dirt my aorta can take it while I bleed happiness