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Quentin
Poems
Nov 2023
Sore With Red Lines
As stress relentlessly builds
Like puddles in a downpour,
It tends to leave the mind
A little bit sore.
Everyone questions
If the afterlife is a myth.
Sometimes this place
She wants nothing to do with.
While many face the future
With a great sense of dread,
Others patiently await the day
That the moon turns red.
Not knowing where to look,
He searches for the signs.
Answers come up empty,
A paper with blank lines.
Yet again
My arm itches
To be written
Sore with red lines.
Notice the last word in each Stanza ;) thank you for reading :D
Written by
Quentin
22/M/USA
(22/M/USA)
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