My name is often whispered, my memory abhorred,
My touch brings out the blisters, my skin is cracked and torn.
My eyes are small and heartless, just circles black as soot.
They blend into the darkness, for fear I’d wake you up.
I lurk beneath the shadows, forever out of sight – Am I a distant memory, or will you sleep tonight?
- Portmore, Jamaica
- JoinedApril 20, 2014
- facebook: Drew's Facebook profile
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