weeds growing
I'm not in need,
of inevitability
of planting a seed
when the weeds.....
I step through
a horror show,
of this proud
of show and tell.
I become greener,
as the weather
is stormier,
I hate this world
and the way you hurl
the abuse when I'm
the storm and voice
to an inner chaos
carries the echoes....
....wet clothes.....
hair dripping wet
I can't think
I carry no bets
to their perversions,
she was just a friend.
I ruined it completely
with this damn poetry.
A coffee in the subtle,
doesn't carry a title,
and I miss those moments.......
I miss the bus-stop cheap feeds
and I never carried that seed,
I just loved you as you were
and not as a Goddess of her.....
Copyright © Ryan Geoffrey Hayward | Year Posted 2025
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