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christopher-tollesonPoems
My sides have been stuck, struck with pointed thorns; unborn tragedies seething for release. Each one, I picked and prodded, and left in soiled animosity; bitter knots wreathed in poisonous posterity. Each foreign touch seems to have left my gall cascaded but Yours, debated - a rhythmic ring of probing pessimisity. I breathe. You squeeze, touch my outer fringe, the withering; I freeze. You bequeath a fresh'ing thorn. I writhe, Moments collide - fourth dimensional paradigms - commonly unseen, birthing blooms by vestal wounds; you cut the stem, you redesigned the strife, in obsequios streams.
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Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
One thorn in reversal - a Rose in wondering
My sides have been stuck, struck with pointed thorns; unborn tragedies seething for release. Each one, I picked and prodded, and left in soiled animosity; bitter knots wreathed in poisonous posterity. Each foreign touch seems to have left my gall cascaded but Yours, debated - a rhythmic ring of probing pessimisity. I breathe. You squeeze, touch my outer fringe, the withering; I freeze. You bequeath a fresh'ing thorn. I writhe, Moments collide - fourth dimensional paradigms - commonly unseen, birthing blooms by vestal wounds; you cut the stem, you redesigned the strife, in obsequios streams.
christopher-tolleson
Written by
christopher-tolleson
American
Apr 23, 2013
Apr 23, 2013 at 1:17 PM UTC
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