The lid of a stained glass bottle,
leaves a burning sensation in my palm.
What was I hoping for?
Surely, this message will wrinkle-
my painful words silently drifting away.
And all that'd be left was my starving soul,
craving to be found someday.
Jul 20, 2020
Jul 20, 2020 at 10:40 PM UTC
The lid of a stained glass bottle,
leaves a burning sensation in my palm.
What was I hoping for?
Surely, this message will wrinkle-
my painful words silently drifting away.
And all that'd be left was my starving soul,
craving to be found someday.
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