tonight at melancholy
where having illusions
is a prayer to enlighten
my armor locked as to deepen the glow
playing ghost deserves such improbability
same shadows address all conversations
lost to hide my love
motionless in tears
YOU ARE READING
Salad Days
PoetrySad poems from sad and angry times. Written from a juvenile time (14 years old) to older. That's what you get when you leave a teen to ponder reality. A pen hits reality harder than high school survival. Original Art from Vivianne Rheaume
