• hmg101p 16w

    My pen weeps heavy memories of yesterday’s, where I can no longer stay...

    Flashes of ink flash flood rivers from eyes. In a graveyard of sonnets, I create my demise. Dreaming is how I plan my weary days. Filtered by the curved dimensions, carving comma’s on my face. It’s cold inside my rhymes again. They’re biting and cursing, trapped beyond my fingers again. But the monsters still whisper, with frantic tales of my heart’s woes. Leaving me breathless, in metaphoric shadows. There’s a war riddled inside my head, as I’m held together by the drawing of life. Pale white thoughts, to rush the page in spite...

    -HMG