|
| |
Project Ian
Ring the bell of sense
And let it all commence.
Suffering served for supper.
Stare her in the eyes
Inside, the secret lies.
No blade can make her...
Twinge, the stakes are high
Anxiety comes to apply
The wound inside my brain.
Let her presence haunt
Her memories inside daunt
The never-ending train.
The infinite chain
of thoughts and intentions.
Soak in what is...
Strained.
Copyright ©
Writing Muse
|
|