Eveything i am or ever wanted to be
Are in these pages
I write storms
Each word is rolling thunder from my lips
Each letter is dropping rain from my hands
Each step i take to get into these pages are the flowers that i rain upon
The flowers that i ruin each day
Those flowers are suppossed to sprout behind me as i walk but instead they come out from right underneath my feet
They get crushed
I dont mean for them too
Sometimes,
Not always,
They live and grow anew.
Over and over again
Till eternity ends
YOU ARE READING
storms and blood
Poetrythe death of which is unknown -figured out between the lines of within these pages
