And every summer with u is only a grave
A cradle to hostility
For those marigold holocausts are all timid,
Vivacious and wild
the unsung tone, the unwritten hymn,
My mind, a dazzle,
A zit in a piece
And a memory sundried.
YOU ARE READING
NOT FLAWLESS ENOUGH
PoetryNone of us are actually flawless, How much ever we try to make ourselves believe we are perfect, we are amazing.. we'll still be carrying the scars of our own lives and the glories of someone else's But we still try to be flawless, hiding all the m...
