Guts.

To what sweet moment do I owe,
this visit of agonizing undertow,
this false smiled greeting,
this cease fire fleeting,
this stare of fate,
this stay of hate.

What do I owe this honour,
that you have graced my floor,
crossed the threshold of my life,
to cause my a bit of strife?
to say hello and mend,
or is it a bit of a lend?

I sit,
I wait,
for you to stop talking,
I stare,
I smile,
and finally say no.

Guts.

  • Artwork Comments 4

Artwork Comments

  • jcmontgomery
  • Zolton
  • Paul Rees-Jones
  • stilljustme
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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