The WellThe WellThe Well
It cut me down and made me weak I hit my knees and crawled I whimpered to the darkness for mercy unadorned No answer came and so I wept My soul, it cracked inside I laid there with a choice to make It’s time to do or die
I knew I’d never see the day That brought a sweet defender In that hell I’d lay alone Left to weak surrender Not quite whole, but never gone My spirit rose above It forced me into sacrifice
In the innocence of love
I found my feet and struggled up My legs would barely hold I
When the Moths Return.The figures of moths dancing around the lamppost above cast shadows across his shoes as he passed yet another picket fence. The gleaming white stakes encasing a happy suburban charade seemed to glare out at him, mocking. The picturesque houses revelled in a happiness he could never again experience. Those damned silhouettes of families, parked in front of their favourite television show, screamed of what he could no longer have. Such simple thoughts, the placid moments time had twisted and mutilated into bruising memories.When the Moths Return.
Shaking the painful images from his gaze, he skulked past the local hospital. The harsh fluorescent lig
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-Roki4,
its pretty annoying that writing isnt very popular on this site
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When language becomes petrified by the academies, ravaged and made barren by journalism, its true spirit seeks refuge amongst children and mad poets. - Richard Huelsenbeck
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