Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Nov 2016
Smalls hands,
Cold feet,
Passion  every time we meet.
Blind? Maybe.
Dumb? ,probably
Wrong?  Never
Fingers  twisted like pretzels  in our palms
Tearing  out the psalms.
Because  it was sacred  once doesnt mean it is now,
But because  ive been  here  before makes it mean so much more,
My heart has  been broken  battered and bruised.
But still ill hold it up,
For you to use once more x
X
Death-throws
Written by
Death-throws  hamilton, new zealand
(hamilton, new zealand)   
350
   acacia and Ryan Hoysan
Please log in to view and add comments on poems