Like flies,
the lies,
buzz.
Laying in bed,
my head,
hurts.
I pray,
about the day,
Jesus.
How I need you,
it’s true,
to fight.
For me,
you agree,
to set free.
One lasting lie,
like a spy,
nags.
“Suffering,
forever buffering,
endless.”
But it won’t last,
soul, aghast,
hold tight.
About the Creator
Rowan Finley
Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Keep reading
More stories from Rowan Finley and writers in Poets and other communities.
Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
🔥🤯🔥
The darkest night brings the brightest sunrise, a renewal.
Like finding the one I love and not being able to have the relationship we both want...maybe one day.