Jenkins Street Poetry Project
A collection of original poems by Don Stinson
Thursday, April 29, 2010
I Heard You Killed Yourself
So who do you
Believe in now,
Disillusioned
And oh so hard?
Gritty, granite,
Skeptical, sharp
As a needle
Teasing the flesh
Along the white
Trace of your arm,
The place you cut
When you were young
To drain bad faith.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment