This withering reflection is a cushion to my
soul and this impulsive flow of pain I feel
I won't rely on sight again.
I'm hiding the pain behind a pretty face;
...
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but linger on your sleeve of tales, to rot away the gloss of truths. wonderful imagery of love as when latches on to the claws of grief, haitus grows by gaunlet, soul when swathed by the pain, love seems to be hurtful by the reeks, great write,10+, thanks for sharing
I really like your poetic style...very unique...I can see the pain-the tears-the lonliness-this poem took me to a place-a familiar place. Excellent piece! ! ! ! !