A slap in the face
would bring me to tears
with my throat all glazed
in the clutch of its spears,
covered in blood
as it mixes with salt.
But no freckles pop up
after kissing such came to a halt...
A black bowtie and all
in the silence of an office
conceived messages sounding strong
of a guitar adorning the image so nostalgic;
a concert stowed away
with your eyes for me, but mine seem to stay
no matter how irked at immaturity
I seem to maintain the audacity
To see my soul
like a hallucination after years as dull
as I thought my fate would statically remain,
though we were too much of the same
and a month's mourned with my heart.
Hence, a slap in the face returned to its start.
YOU ARE READING
indoors.
PoetryWhat's a college junior to do when her young adulthood has been robbed of a rainbow of events, support, more than one tight bond, and life lessons? The birth of this collection of poetry.
