18- mostly poetry
The blood runs down his hand dripping to the ground, A knife in one hand, a life in the other. Once ivory bed sheets, now stained a dark carmine.
By christina digioia7 years ago in Poets
Part Nulla: The Forever Changing Seasons of Life The seasons change almost as quick as your emotions. One day I am basking in your warmth.
My room is illuminated by only my computer screen. The blank page taunting me as the cursor blinks faster and faster. God all I want right now is to be in your arms.
I am at a loss for words. As I have lost the inspiration for my madness, The words written are less truthful than before.
By christina digioia8 years ago in Poets
An aura resembling the warm embrace of the sun, brings a sense of comfort to those who may need it. It is the lens which those who look through,
I open a fresh carton of Newports and place one in between my teeth, Pulling out my lighter to spark the end. The cool drag of the smoke slides down into my lungs,
