when we struggle
we write

theres a fight between
the pen in my hand
and the sword
in my heart.
and maybe in my
sorrow
you can find the
art.

whats a rose..
it’s the red that
arose , riding thru
my blood
but it’s the blue
in my hue
that's clouding my
view
whats new
with u
I forget
   to ask

wildly
i wander
restlessly frantic
why do i bother
to make a home
when i could roam
so freely
in a world where no one can
feed me
so ferociously
the hunger takes control of me
and i rip apart a soul and
eat the things i like
i am not a wife
just a lightning strike for the lonely
there and then im
gone
did u think you could ever know me?