‘A new poem about reminiscing on your youth and regretting lost time.’
What is the point of memories if they are just kept in storage?
Fragments of my conscience littering my brain.
A painter fatigued by the colour grey.
Tears seeps into my pillowcase.
Trapped inside photographs,
I attempt to resuscitate youth.
Spark a candle for the girl I once knew.
I am but mere history,
A flame of fiery ferocity
Am I lost in the labyrinth of mystery?
A malfunctioning machine.
Now I am
Previously: Wings Of Wardship