My poems are deep, they cut, they call me a slut.
With this ruse, they kindly abuse, the thoughts i still have. The feeling crawling, my body trying to escape, ripping off the tape, the tape that holds me together but anything to run away from the kiss of death. It's only a simple kiss, quite warm and inviting in fact.
The rack of ribs that encase me, display me. They once served a purpose, which is? Now so empty, the noise resonates through my hollow chest into my skull reminding me...I am lost.
-JB
YOU ARE READING
Sweet and sour feelings
PoetryThis is a poetry book filled a with a lot of original poems written by me. The dark times, the sour times and also the sweet times. A lot of feelings dipped on my pen and scribbled on my paper or my computer keys.
