Watch my word

In one context with the bowl around, we are all some nets' searching soul which sorround.
Colds that holds us tight, we preserve.
And so we do deserve the sight.
Never there had been a Reserve for a might.
But that's okay for a night which happens for each kind.
I don't feel to fight.
Cause there is no reason for it, so every season shore a kid sit' I will shit my pants.
Sands has wrapped on my eyes like a kit.

Comments

Additional Resources

Get AI Feedback on your poem

Interested in feedback on your poem? Try our AI Feedback tool.
 

 

If You Need Support

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741