tristiano

pink socks,
an ant crawls across.
pink shoes,
in a cardboard box.
dark gaps,
endless perhaps.
a black hole sky,
unforgiving,
sucks lie after lie,
consuming what,
we deny,
to justify,
as time goes by.
like the ant,
we go about.
I just want,
to escape the cold.
how do I get out,
of this hole.

__________________

dannyboy

this reminds me of the stuff I used to write when i first started writing poetry, enjoy the ride tristiano.

ash somers

i'd be inclined to give it some space
the odd line break wouldn't hurt