The sun, rarely hot.
Weeping mother, bleeding child.
Death is lurking by.
YOU ARE READING
her gloom
Poetry"I am you, one day out of five, Tired, empty, hating what I carry But afraid to lay it down, stingy, Angry, doing violence to others By the sheer freight of my gloom, Halfway home, wanting to stop, to quit But keeping going mostly out of spite...
