Frail

You, you are twisted with false memories of unjust hands.
Never letting go of those distant lands. I can hear the shaking of the bones as you tote around that bag full of ghosts.
No face is left without a stain in your brain as your heart only warms when you smell the plan of your vengeance.
How might a mortal be so marginalized in every poem. How might each story be yet another stone thrown at you without cause…seems a bit curious why they all tend to leave when you are as delicate and unbelievably sweet.

Reviews

[Kim S.]

I can hear the shaking of the bones as you tote around that bag full of ghosts.
No face is left without a stain in your brain as your heart only warms when you smell the plan of your vengeance.

I love this part a lot, This is full of feeling, enjoyed

[AKhaus]

Wow, thank you very much! Truly appreciate it