Title:
when pointing out the obvious, she would <div>let her eyes roll and spin, the gravity of your </div><div>ignorance pulling on their tendoned orbits. </div><div>Specifically, when asking questions she knew </div><div>there were no answers to, her voice </div><div>would lift extra high - "How many times </div><div>must I tell you?", "How many years <div>must this go on?" - the glass of her composure</div><div>vibrating dangerously, every molecule in distress. </div><div>Funny, in the end, knowing </div><div>she wouldn't make it, how high her voice </div><div>became, how tired those spinning eyes, lost</div><div>for glint and glitter, the whole of her shaking </div><div>like a house, a city, a star, about to be</div><div>lost.</div></div>
Author:
Bio:
What is the sum of 6 and 10:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.