Poems from Synocide
Everyone has the desire to be listened to,
but ever since I was three, the urge to be known was apparent
every bone in my frail little...
It's okay baby.
You don't need them,
the way their faces twist in cruel temptation
as you lean against a target
and you're the only one...
Her small hand touches the moist fabric of my shirt,
wrapping her arm around me as if she forgot how to comfort me.
I don't blame her.
She...
I can't even think of anything to say.
the clock shares a bloody red light with darkness:
11:23 pm
and here I sit alone next to a sleeping...
She dances in her bright orange dress.
Her fiery skin an inferno, causing distant shadows.
Her eyes blaze with the heat of the unknown....