Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2019
It takes all types
to consume it
as though you
could sip this cold rage
brimming
does it render me to
rise above the madness
their petty little cuts
or do I gently sit
inside the calm and pray
for pragmitism
it has left
their souls willfully
I know the sound of what
wasp music makes
and it comes painted in
fraudulent gold.
Tanisha Jackland
Written by
Tanisha Jackland  111/F/is still getting old.
(111/F/is still getting old.)   
318
     Paul, Perry, ---, Graff1980, Yann and 1 other
Please log in to view and add comments on poems