CirculationA Poem by Wraith.Trepidation, disposition Below the surface it's esoteric a skin of grief self medication Ambivalent ritual My brain is in seizures Somehow still human I stash my unknowns below my ribs Pain that could draw in most dire of dependencies and become so aware of fragility weak in my nature
© 2016 Wraith. |
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Added on January 14, 2016 Last Updated on January 14, 2016 |

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