bruises
open wounds
empty kisses
weird that
i adore
their redness
redness that
entice a slight
temptation
to dwell me
into her
manifestation
manifestation
present in
every part—
proved she
escaped from
the sinews of
my heart
my heart that
longs to beat
for her
i fret would
cease to pump
since it's
over,
seems never—
lest we
start over
YOU ARE READING
Fools
PoetryA collection of poetry found its way juxtaposed with short works of prose, conveying talks about what comprises the life of a fool, what it takes to be such, and whatnots in between. Fools is a book of poems and prose alike, dedicated for those who...
