Poetry seems to like to vent the broken me.
But I was a happy child and a blooming teen.
It just lasted less than the length of dreams.
And if I’m not to blame then who could it be?
Truth is… no truth can set you free.
Pain and fear lay inbetween.
The things you hope for and the things you see.
Just strangers, that will never meet.
Another Fly On The Wall
Tech Talk, Spoken Word and Worldwide Features
