your oceans too blue,
your skies too bleak -
none of them true,
and too weak to hold me.
YOU ARE READING
Prismatic Memories
Poetry"i. they tell me they cannot comprehend art. where art is, whispers reside. ii. i tell them that the only art i need are the words that bleed onto paper. iii. they tell me it doesn't work that way. there are compromises for art. sports. scie...
Yellow (10) : fake promises and clouded lies ;
your oceans too blue,
your skies too bleak -
none of them true,
and too weak to hold me.
