No Cure

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
something I wrote in my.... "diary" just random scentences, I wan't trying to write a poem, just story ideas and things, but it turned out sounding good so....

Submitted: March 28, 2012

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Submitted: March 28, 2012

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A A A


Red ribbons, crimson on plush white carpet.

Silver metal into ivory flesh, the cheap razor leaves its flavor.

Dirty pennies, the taste of life, leaks down a slender wrist

And cannot be cured by mothers kiss.

The end. Who will read? Useless words lost on eternity.

Infinities personification, and then the end of time.

No sense to be made in this grey haze.


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