Writing makes me feel something.
swimming deep into the depths of my salty heart climbing out of the abyss that is my brain scratching deep down to my bones
By Lace Coleabout a year ago in Poets
‘Twas October long ago but not so long ago there you were intriguing beautiful mysterious going on of your days in the gutter
-Jare- it is time the little prince is coming how much i wish that was the phone call instead i rushed to save yet another one
the nothingness is chipping away all that i have left fantasizing of feelings, of feeling this is something huge mustn’t you feel something?
oh how i wish my words were as eloquent as yours bring me back down to earth i wish i felt that my words were eloquent i wish my worth meant i am worthy
uneasy tiptoeing on porcelain dolls not eggshells that’s stupid resentful afraid but i do love you i do want you
By Lace Cole2 years ago in Poets
is it better because i feel as though i have nothing to lose. is it worse because i wonder if this is better than anything i’ll ever know.