Mar 13
Everything is left.
Empty.
This frustration.
Doesn't end.
It haunts me.
A peculiar poltergeist.
As all my ambition.
Coalesces into feeble.
Poetry.
My metaphoric mantra.
To keep.
An impulse to write.
Empty.
This frustration.
Doesn't end.
It haunts me.
A peculiar poltergeist.
As all my ambition.
Coalesces into feeble.
Poetry.
My metaphoric mantra.
To keep.
An impulse to write.
