shapes of it

spin the white lies along those Black truths,
life is not a circle of perfection;
it’s ..
a surfeit of chaos balanced,
on each thread we weave Day by day,
life has edges, it has corners dulled,
it’s a mix of shapes,
somehow tied,
by a single breath.

Recent Poems

alive

i’m a haunted house where the echoes of past laughs  ring faintly through corridors… paint

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evanesce

liminal haze of waking up,to a white walled,cob-webbed coffin,erasing life off too quickly,yesterday forgotten like,history

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