tirring up in all its forms
with which a busy day adorns
the fact and fiction of my heart
can leave me breathless with its scorn
awash in doubt, swiftly forlorn,
tossed in the air and torn apart.
Grab a pencil and pull up a chair, this is the place for poetry!
tirring up in all its forms
with which a busy day adorns
the fact and fiction of my heart
can leave me breathless with its scorn
awash in doubt, swiftly forlorn,
tossed in the air and torn apart.