Install Theme
The Writer's Address

she sits in the middle of the road
awaiting for the next horn of ongoing traffic
oncoming revelations come in abundance
neither bringing peace or clarity, their
flutter is resonant in their flight
she is manufactured from sheer pride
crafted out of pure resilience
her heart is stone-like but hollow as bark
a tempered tongue holds words of profanity
curses spoken from the inner antagonist
she awaits the next horn of ongoing traffic
afraid her endurance has finally lapsed.

(Source: thewritersaddress)