image credits: Xmel.com I watch as the blood turns to flowers like I turn disappointments into poetry and exhaling makes it easier when you're gone, when we're all gone we walked with such haste and kicked curbs so stubbornly that the world stilled into a painting we are strangers with empty faces and closed fists and the stories lift from the frame like birds in blacks and white migrating across nations last in a shrill quiet looking for September. -bryam
Think, learn & enrich the knowledge