PoetrySad Poems

Ugly Past

I have an ugly past that needs a makeup,
I called Cassandra Clare to come over to my house with a paint brush.

This headache thudding inside of my head like a day old cough,
I poured out my heart for her in a rusty copper cup,
she took a sip and told me, “Hey? … I think I am in love.”

My memories and thoughts are waging diabolical war,
I am adrift in the ocean’s surface like a floating duck,
suffrage movement on the north,
what’s the point?

End earth and let’s start again from dust.

Why not share?

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