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"fraire" poems
The walls of my heart are breaking, my mind's demons are playing on the edge. It feels as though madness is an old friend, a toxic one. I played with the rose's thorns and pricked my finger. My blood drowning my feelings and I turn to stone. Not the beautiful kind, the one with cracks and dirt, roots are controlling my place and I looked into the eye of despair. Twisting and turning to my last words; "Au Contraire, mon fraire".
0
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
maire-rolin
A dangerous dance
The walls of my heart are breaking, my mind's demons are playing on the edge. It feels as though madness is an old friend, a toxic one. I played with the rose's thorns and pricked my finger. My blood drowning my feelings and I turn to stone. Not the beautiful kind, the one with cracks and dirt, roots are controlling my place and I looked into the eye of despair. Twisting and turning to my last words; "Au Contraire, mon fraire".
Continue reading...
2
The walls of my heart are breaking, my mind's demons are playing on the edge. It feels as though madness is an old friend, a toxic one. I played with the rose's thorns and pricked my finger. My blood drowning my feelings and I turn to stone. Not the beautiful kind, the one with cracks and dirt, roots are controlling my place and I looked into the eye of despair. Twisting and turning to my last words; "Au Contraire, mon fraire".
0
May 14, 2017
May 14, 2017 at 11:22 AM UTC
maire-rolin
A dangerous dance
The walls of my heart are breaking, my mind's demons are playing on the edge. It feels as though madness is an old friend, a toxic one. I played with the rose's thorns and pricked my finger. My blood drowning my feelings and I turn to stone. Not the beautiful kind, the one with cracks and dirt, roots are controlling my place and I looked into the eye of despair. Twisting and turning to my last words; "Au Contraire, mon fraire".
Continue reading...
2