echoes on a painting
slipshod
erratic
life degenerates
into
ripples
a wailing silence
freezing
being
what was
a picturesque call
frees a soul
from webs
too tightly woven
a promise
of hope
there was
but is now
OK that just purged itself outta my head... make of it what you will but after today if I bother to look back at it I'll probably be cringing... Urgh so bad...
I should be spring cleaning my hall but... Hmm. Yes I should. Oh my laundry is done! :D
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