I count the days to find
What was left behind
Only these names I clutch
Will lead me to my home
Somehow this river marks
A wrinkle hand in mine
And everyday that parts
The water into two
Mothers and feathers start
To drown the living proof
I can't remember these lakes of blood
Wrapped in a blanket
There sweats a cut
View User's Journal
~Reflection~
Mostly stories that I come up with, but some things might be personal or something I want to save, and I'll do that here.
 |
