No more dreams of strange colors,

Or nights of trust and fever


The Cupid’s bow, the arrow like


The boiling red

Underneath the skin.


Left behind in black and white

And now I am free to leave




2 thoughts on “Vulnerable

    1. Thank you, I’m so glad you like it.

      Honestly, I have no idea who I am or what I’m talking about most of the time when I write a poem. Sometimes I go back to old poems and try to remember what I was thinking about. It’s always a wild ride and I’m never sure if I know what was going on with me (because my memory is awful…), huh.

      Liked by 2 people

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