These feet

I must be defeated ’cause I can feel it in my feet. they won’t move so that must prove something. beauty in the eye of the beholder is much colder when beauty is the destroyer of I would cry but it doesn’t make a difference to this indifferent wraith admiring my corpse. match-stick make-up of a broken bodied discourse on the arrival of final days of my time here. melt into the spring sun and whisper of devolutions in this archetype of feelings that armored our champions. the blood on the pavement is same in color as the one in … Continue reading These feet