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Poetry Its Here.Long it is still the eternal pinging forever marking time what we've wasted and what is left us. Shorter it now grows slipping past us one by one it goes and all thats left nothing but dreams. It reaches its end merely a nub now withered skin and sunken aged-old flesh turn around ma 'cherie Its Here. *cough* Another poem composed out of sheer..nothingness... Well it was written during my History class so at least I was paying attention in Math this time...hmm but seriously I think I was just in a weird sort of funk that day. Please Leave a Review
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