I Wonder Whether She Was

Fridays Are The Hardest In Some Ways: You’re So Close To Freedom.

Quiet Through The Grave Go I; Or Else Beneath The Graves I Lie

But Maybe You Carried Your Demons With You Everywhere, The Way You Carried Your Shadow.

Some Things Are Better Left Buried And Forgotten.

Poetry Isn't Like Any Writing I've Ever Heard Before. I Don't Understand All Of It, Just Bits Of Images, Sentences That Appear Half-finished, All Fluttering Together Like Brightly Colored Ribbons In The Wind.