StutterA Poem by CrimsonHints
My words spill out and over;
A kettle too quick to boil. Tendrils pushing upward; A sprout breaking soil. My words split and crumble; An avalanche of stone. Sensations in my throat, I feel it in my bones. My words spiral and tilt, Hitting granite and gold. But the story on my lips, Isn't the one my mind has told. © 2016 CrimsonHintsReviews
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