Little boy on the snow filled street
giving a smile to all you meet...
And as I slip, sliding down this distant path
I still hear the voices, the tin pot radio...
And so we gather
some tearful, strained convulsions, leaking sorrow...
Beware of what you say ‘yes’ to
it is such a small word...
The world was harsh and dismal,
Weighty storms upon times clock...
the bed is empty
no jasmine nor lavender...
They, took a bite out of my cake,
leaving teeth marks...
As we are facing the forth semester of the year
I am slowly wrapping up my last nine months...
... once again..
.. I would be woken, by two voices raising; faded...
Cleanse your mind from the
Attrition of...
Struck down with anxiety
Tensions weigh heavily upon me...
I walk along a path; alone
with only my shadow...