I see you, I do. You're heard and mean well, I'm sure, but the words are harsh.
Category: micro poem
Cloud
With your head in the clouds, you'll only see the fog and miss what is real.
Bare
My words are the leaves of winter: gone. Not seen or heard or read. I'm bare.
Words
There they are: All words. I can see them at night up in the sky like stars.
migraine 7-7
The brain removed, then placed on two pitchforks and pushed inside: my migraine
CandyH2O 