autumn (Remove filter)
He bleeds Autumn.
Your skin like the yellow brick road,
and what is it that creates that rush of blush?
I’d love to shovel out your flesh or drill through your cheeks
to reach those autumn leaves,
that grow behind the golden weeds,
the red leaves that were never green.
No, never new, they never grew,
they stayed and they remained:
Dying, but never dead,
thriving, behind your face of ...
Friday 31st March 2017 3:47 pm
Recent Comments
Alexia_Supreme on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
17 minutes ago
Landi Cruz on frankenstein
1 hour ago
Trevor Alexander on The Nobel Prize for Lies
8 hours ago
Trevor Alexander on Target
11 hours ago
Mike McPeek on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
14 hours ago
Rick Varden on Slug
18 hours ago
Russell Jacklin on Mob Rule Mentality
18 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Mob Rule Mentality
18 hours ago
Tom on The Waiting Room
18 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
18 hours ago