His feet tapped on the window sill, finding rest for his tired, wind-whipped body.
What do we lose when we surrender our sorrows?
you have places to go, things to do!
taking a half-hearted jab at toughing it out
I am a rude, wicked manand I will say it from behind the drapesof righteousness I don.
Grief is lava, darkness spectrum, from Planckian redto Hawking’s black
Your eyes are cold,Your eyes are lifeless as you glare,You have no idea who I am?You have no clue as to where I’ve been,All I see is…
Pain, the choice, the route,over prideful solitude,cleavage candor.
“ Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re…