If there were so many words
And you had so much to say
Why didn’t it roll or fall out?
Why didn’t the laws of gravity it obey?
Or were you so scared about the mass
The crater it would leave
The mess of the catalyst
Dealing with the aftermath
It just wouldn’t be worth
Leaving me
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PoetryPoetry is supposed to be the fruit of love, however it has become the fruit of self loathing and tumultuous love affairs that should've ended ages ago. I tend to think too much String half-pondered ideas And stick them to a board Stare at the post-i...
