Aug 2, 2014
Poem that was saved in my drafts for a long time, now I'm letting it free
you always had a thing for phoenixes as if you saw your future directly on the horizon. you used to see colors before your eyes but you stopped seeing those colors because of the limits of your mind. what came of this first death? you were like an empty present at Christmas a red fox with dark paws, how many more bad metaphors do i have, this poem is shit.