Echoes in the long and constant.
Bitterness toward me but I don't glitter
My soft refusals are all blades and movement.
We'll die here.
Can reality flash into fantasy?
There has to be a better formula.
What is the sum of 10 and 7:
It's your turn! Move into the poem. Renovate it. Knock down its walls. Put your spin on it. Make it your own.