Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
This has potential. Hold the cup that isn't for drinking, that possesses endless points. Hand bridges one cliff hip to the next, space beneath feathery and somewhat beveled. No point, sum potential; luck 4 sale, keep on ice. This is me faking thrill at the top of a hill that is way below sea level; glaciers overtaking my liver. There are many who send help, but nobody can hear. There is a radio crackling years down the road and it drowns out everything for miles.
0
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Untitled
This has potential. Hold the cup that isn't for drinking, that possesses endless points. Hand bridges one cliff hip to the next, space beneath feathery and somewhat beveled. No point, sum potential; luck 4 sale, keep on ice. This is me faking thrill at the top of a hill that is way below sea level; glaciers overtaking my liver. There are many who send help, but nobody can hear. There is a radio crackling years down the road and it drowns out everything for miles.
Mote
Written by
33/F
Nov 17, 2014
Nov 17, 2014 at 12:45 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem