It's always a constant matter between life and death at the coin toss of a dull dime, in a "one in a million" chance at standing on the edge, chasing the pavement of that yellow brick road to what you call a "home."
By Katie-Lee McKenzie-Litawchuk6 years ago in Poets
You look for the good in yourself and all you find is the toxins of your ridden self, mixed with cigar smoke, vodka and marijuana.
As so it goes, pain changes people and pain demands to be felt. Such life, a necessity yet so cliche. It breeds from Mozart to the Rolling Stones, or so much as a spiral, criss-cross.
Rip through the skin, there she is again. Fallen to her hands and knees, she looks at the mess she has made on the floor. Burgundy river reflects the mask on her head. She finally sees through the blinded eye.