It has been Seventeen
Months since I last wrote
The ink grew stale in the air
Of the outside world.
The prison bars become thicker
and the canvas is smeared
No rhyme, no reason
A simple etching
I think of the insipiration of
Insanity, like a falling rain
A drought has come
And dried this land
Dec 17, 2015
Dec 17, 2015 at 11:36 PM UTC
It has been Seventeen
Months since I last wrote
The ink grew stale in the air
Of the outside world.
The prison bars become thicker
and the canvas is smeared
No rhyme, no reason
A simple etching
I think of the insipiration of
Insanity, like a falling rain
A drought has come
And dried this land
