Stricken from the record.
I'm glad it happened, that I was torn to the ground that I might rebuild, that it made me strong enough to endure this, everything, his starshine eyes and arms so tight, love is agony.
I must write, remember, so that when I am old and feeble-fingered I will not forget what I could feel.
(Though he says, he says, and I dare not hope, that I will not need to remember because he will be there to remind me.)
All the cliches are fucking true, and I'd follow him to hell and back.











also! you're correct;
I found you via ~scarredsodeep.
xo!
shane
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
--
Les artistes sont les anarchistes toujours.
Previous Page12345...Next Page