Poems from Isabella Lanford
The painting I held
forced onto my wall
had a soft top layer
the prettiest of all
I watched it at night
prodding the ink and the paint...
His coffee was not pretty
It lacked warmth and flavor
Dripped straight from the machine
With nothing much to savor
Yet the people deemed...
Sinful feet approached the stage
felt the weight of eternal eyes
saw the horror of his fate
split his morals from his pride
he severed...
He looked up with guarded eyes
He looked me in the face
Carved his name into my ear
Tore the skin out of my lace
I washed the things I...