The carbon caged in their ribcage sparks exothermic,
through those alphabets of ancient prose.
poetry is what exits as ashes,
their souls aches to touch the
course.
ink is what they have,
poetry is what they bleed
perfect liners with insouciant punctuation,
the treasure, in which they believe.
May 22, 2018
May 22, 2018 at 2:34 PM UTC
The carbon caged in their ribcage sparks exothermic,
through those alphabets of ancient prose.
poetry is what exits as ashes,
their souls aches to touch the
course.
ink is what they have,
poetry is what they bleed
perfect liners with insouciant punctuation,
the treasure, in which they believe.
I thank you all for making this world a little better, by writing and letting out all these emotions, helping yourself and others in the process.
This isn't just a writing community, it's a family. Helping and inspiring, one another. Thankyou!
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