Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
A poetic
password feels
right today
as she
drew lines
parallel with
her cadence
that logic
shorten arc
of real
flatulent her
desire now
circumcise blind
interaction to
dissect lateness
but to
ensure righteous.
 Mar 2017 Annisa Alwiyansyah
ryn
This is my feud...
This is my fight.
Many are my thoughts,
I hide from sight.

I show myself steady
but much remains unseen.
Ungreased are the cogs in my head.
Their teeth sharpened keen.

They eat and abrade.
Always turning, always grinding.
Results always made,
detrimental and unforgiving.

So think of me...
Not negligence maintained
and notions bought.
Think of my feud.
Let it be food for thought.

— The End —