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Addison René Oct 2014
i used to write about being sad -
the things i know:
how my fingers constantly grasped for
metacarpals the never really
fit with in mine
and how only the fire
that i poured down my throat
made me utter the words,
"i love you".
now i struggle upon embracing
how the drowsy-eyed glances
turned into sacharine stares,
the whispers of "you could love me",
places on top of mountains,
and freckles that i can count;
every single one of them.
if they say,
"write about what you know",
then where do i even start
about all of the things i don't?
Pramod Shinde May 2015
Still i wonder
how darker sky
ponder showers
of sacharine rain

then go and
feel the wetness
of my
brutal past


*cheers!

— The End —