*Ones knowing of truth,
can only be discovered by instinct -
time spating no sympathy to soothe;there sees countless murders to a heart;
the first truly being... that of a harsh lit lung
&
unreciprocating tongue,
marked under flesh as remindful scars,
tumbled over many ways & faltered hard,
though -
mine reached not yet afar,
every hand harbors even the tiniest fraction of a burning star,
try until a flake of amber ignites toward roaring spark.
YOU ARE READING
Between Actuality & a Psychotic Embrace
PoetryA collection of my own combined styles of - Macro Poetry & QuoteArt, which = MacQuote Poetry. I will try my best to have new additions every week from my on-going-twisted-love-affair of writing poetry. For all the support and encouragements you al...