The Pebbles Pillow
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I tucked my head into that pebbles pillow.
Grasping the night would be rather restless.
Your sight crams me, my love and fiery foe.
If ardor was aimed to be creepily hotness.
Grasping the night would be quite restless,
Why does this brisk void squash my bone?
If ardor was aimed to be creepily hotness,
My racked soul cries out for a return prone.
Why does this brisk void squash my bone?
Folded like a shriveled rose's fading petal.
My racked soul cries out for a return prone.
Rotting deftly, accept death with no meddle.
Folded like a shriveled rose's fading petal.
Two days were enough to drive me crazy.
Rotting deftly, accept death with no meddle.
A cracked pane of glass and a train empty.
Two days were enough to drive me crazy.
Your sight crams me, my love and fiery foe.
A cracked pane of glass and a train empty.
I tucked my head into that pebbles pillow.
Written: May 21, 2022
Copyright © Sotto Poet | Year Posted 2022
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