From a writing prompt for "Catcher in the Rye" By J.D. Salinger
Soft snow drifts,
Untouched,
Blank,
Empty,
a drop of red warmth,
melts through the smooth canvas,
the substance splatters,
mars the white waste,
yet the purity remains,
all this,
laid out on her skin,
It's so tragic,
how a flower can't bloom,
when the winter winds blow,
and green growth,
is but a distant memory,
leaving only nude,
white,
I refuse to put this scene to ruin,
no blood shall be spilt,
not for me.
YOU ARE READING
Chemistry and Poetry
PoésieI sometimes write poetry Its complete shite Ill put it on here anyway *poetic snaps* Each poem will show you what year I wrote them. As reference i was born in 2000.
