Poems from Abbylu777
When it comes to writing, whatever it be, I see it as a work of art. Place words with the an image and it comes to life.
Icicles are my fingers, stiffly projecting from my hands, wishing to gather under their frosty chins any sliver of warmth. For in winter’s...
You murdered me with whisperings
of trusted secrets now in fling.
Our trust you tore with rampant greed
and flaunted my foolish empathy...