Without them here.

By themischievousannaJanuary 28, 2016 ( 4 )

To stir in grit,

And feel the motions

Of empty greenhouses,

And clumsy glass

I have a forest,

For a rotten angle

My ribs a mailbox,

Addressed to send

A heady thought,

To strangle.

To purchase prints and merchandise:

http://society6.com/themischiefmemoirs

Categories: Art, Writing

4 comments ›

gregorystackpole
January 28, 2016 • 2:21 am

my ribs a mailbox
addressed to send

–that’s excellent. Jealousy-inspiring.

LikeLiked by 1 person

Reply ↓
- themischievousanna
  January 28, 2016 • 2:22 am
  
  Thank you! 😜
  
  LikeLiked by 1 person
  
  Reply ↓
  - gregorystackpole
    January 28, 2016 • 2:23 am
    
    Thank me?! No: gratitude to _you_ from a regular lurker.
    
    LikeLiked by 1 person
  - themischievousanna
    January 28, 2016 • 2:25 am
    
    As a lurker myself, I’m always comforted to know I’m not the only one with this affliction lol.
    
    LikeLiked by 1 person

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