Poems from saderholdt1

  My hands bleed from slivers of glass The pieces stick me as I try to pick them up It is a habit I have, to try and put the pieces...
  The child of my heart Isn’t like the others. She is reckless and naïve, She can hardly be trusted.   The child of my mind Stands up...
  If one walks with me through a garden of prose Lonely am I still, If my heart is gone than my words are vacant, And my lines are cold...
  It tasted sweet like honeysuckle, But like blood, settled heavy in the glass. The first sip tore her throat to shreds- The second was...
  What does my complexion express? With downcast eyes, I wonder, does favor lie in the pallid color of my cheeks and breast. For if not in...

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