Happy Sunday Steemian
I let this bitter continue to infiltrate though hostile on want
It penetrates to the pores and thin of the retina of the eye
Spreading the bitter taste in my half-blooded blood stream
These are the nights that no longer count me back down
Looked at the darkness of my own bay
And again and again and again just ngerik crickets that I met in his sisipnya deserted
The deeper I followed andrenalin raced with imagi
I loose the bridle in my eyes that umpteen times warm and swollen
Salted salt on the cheek
Sir
Is this just what's left for you?
It should still be clear my dew on the grass
It turns out I'm just a shrub
The weathered the more kerontang until my rant began falling down
I'm not very good at poetry....
I do not know where my words came from
Is it unworthy if it is just an alang weed in the arid country?
Just be wet by my own netrera even though its salty blur stains my gaze
THANK YOU