Worn
She was a muse
In the hands of those
Who handled her poorly
Who built castles in the sky
Upon her shattered smile
With the fractured pieces of her heart
Without regard for her unguarded while
To devour her like used rags
And recycled paper
“SHE WAS A MUSE IN THE HANDS OF THOSE WHO HANDLED HER POORLY”
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Paper
It only took a penTo rewrite the courseI spoke in inkIn sentences made of tousled hair
THE TASTE OF ENDLESS FRUIT
Oh sweet sugarMay I dance with you in silenceWithout rhythm and soundBut with the lashing of s
Wholesome Monster
There thereHe pined away with great restraintLanguished for her sweet overcome
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