On the cold nights
of the sulfurous flames burning,
The fierceness dozed off—
in the dark depths of drunken voids.
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A/N: This was too cryptic, wasn't this? Well to me it was, and now the bees are buzzing near my ears to help them find its meaning. Help me out, anyone, by casting your kind votes and comments, and I'd send you a delightful pie! :)
YOU ARE READING
the slow art of breathing bitter
Poetryslow dancing love and pain in the midnight chorus of liquor-washed autumn green ... || a constellation of destructive poetry ||
