thorn colored glasses.

this. is. my. life.

in all its scarred fermented glory.

with all its edges worn right down.

at odds with the very air it breathes.

created of much, and nothing, at all.

this. is. me.

just tangled up.

without a place.

in foggy sphere.

at ends of rope.

beyond repair

in disbelief.

and tied,

to too g-ddamn much.

this. just. is?

About lifeofawillow
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