Short-Hand NonsenseA Poem by LapseOfMindI don't even know.
It's your shadows that cling and caress as they stretch
Broken whispers of breezes clutch the defects All of these seasons we breathe end in sunsets But this moment in time that we waste is our best No cold that has grasped has shivered our skin Yet no heat that we need burns from within We are vessels afloat with no knowledge to swim So we frequent our souls and delve deep in our sin © 2016 LapseOfMindAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorLapseOfMindSeattle, WAAboutim starting to feel that the news media and social media are the downfall of society and humanity. more..Writing
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