She's the coffee stain on your torn dress,
a deviant catastrophe, a real mess
a foreign language no one can speak
the rain on your rooftop, the hide in your seek
She's the rhythm your heart beats In when a storm is on the way
a private portrait of a a stranger you'd notice even within a crowd
And I just can't find a word to describe her
YOU ARE READING
Fragments
Poetry"Everyone's playing checkers with their scars, saying checkmate whenever they get out without a broken heart. Just to be clear I don't want to get out without a broken heart. I intend to leave this life so shattered there's gonna have to be a thousa...
