Untitled #446
disenchanted.
the word feels like a rock.
pushes me to step back
good thing that happened already.
square one.
or so it feels.
all points of the triangle
or a two edged sword.
and the blade is stained.
there are words,
there are words,
and there are words.
some to reckon the first
some as truths revealed
some dashed like children
upon the rocks.
disenchanted.
the word feels like a rock.
lodges in my throat
as the voices of reason
whisper in my ear.