Was I suppose to write away about my own expression for you?
Write about the wrinkles and then smooth them down?
The raindrops collapse on my fingers as I pen about you
And the table, a plethera of confusion
I sit upon the curb while the rest awaits my rhymes
Rhyme for me
Ryhme for me
A terrible madness when you quietly think that you can't
I'll try
I'll try
The water a soul catcher, collecting indiviual faces
Rapidly searching for troubled souls within hollow places
Transparent flowers fall through my shaky hands
All apples are yellow and the red rains on my land
I can't do anymore right at this moment
I'm not brilliant and the words aren't of a brilliant sonnet
I'm sorry
And I'm sorry once more
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