my soul was poured into a piece of writing
not art, not literature, not poem
a writing.
it took me awhile to see among the flooding tears,
a hand, a mouth, a heart
a writing.
yet you couldn't listen to these letters,
no hand, no mouth, no heart
nonetheless, a writing.
with a dry and empty soul trying to quench love,
not art, not literature, not poem
nonetheless, a writing for you.
YOU ARE READING
i give you my midnight thoughts.
Poetryhear me out, if you will. [ poems, short stories .etc ]
