Photo by Clark Young on Unsplash
Paper cannot handle the ink that I spill
There is a curse hidden behind my quill,
Letters turn to acid & paper turns to ash
The alphabet cries when emotions clash
Sealed with a dash of profanity and a sprinkle of will.
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happy hill (4)
Luna, with her tender disposition and compassionate nature, was not spared from its relentless grasp. With a heavy heart and a determined resolve, Batiste visited Luna at her home, a bouquet of fragrant blooms in hand and a silent prayer on his lips.
By Robbie Baleabout 10 hours ago in Poets
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