For all the lives I've lived thus far, I'd love to say I know well as to what I'd never do, yet with how I have done so well to keep onward with unwell actions, well meaning with a mad mind, not for a meager moment concerned by the thought I sit here sometimes alone and interrogate myself through my words, with these paperbound confession booths that are all mine, yet reckless as I ever am, I bind and dish my words out, I leave the confession booth...
Related Subjects
Poetry