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Literature
The Prisms
Everyday I feel the prisms pulsing through me,
And every night I feel them leave.
Everyday they smile when they greet me,
And I cry when they retreat.
These tides course through my veins,
Bubbling up inside.
They are what make and break my pride.
Hail all who know what I speak,
Pray they never let their bloody waters drain.
For a flower cannot grow without the rain.
Poetry
22 deviations
Devious Folder
5 deviations
Scraps
4 deviations
