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Tom's Poetry |
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Release MeIn one firm and gentle handshe held my heart while with precision she pricked it like a voodoo doll. I grabbed an iron thorn and pierced deep into my chest at the point that said Release Me, but all I got was a gaping wound that gushed rivers of blood and despair, and she cried from the pain of a withered hand. Quickly! Water these words with bitter tears of betrayal. I think I will never love again and soon will die. (C) 6/29/03 Tom Brinck ACCESSIBILITY FEATURES / SITEMAP / CONTACT |
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Poetry