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Apr 2020
My fingertips slip over petals and thorns like silk over gold

Soft tides of myself raging beneath skin thin walls

Beneath the part of us that lives in fury and frustration

The part washing over me erases my being again and again

Every morning I am footprints
And the shoreline
Never the horizon

Yet my pen realizes endlessness in the page.

Ballpoint bloodlines filling empty space.
Fernando Antonio Montejano
Written by
Fernando Antonio Montejano  27/M
(27/M)   
115
   Bogdan Dragos
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