It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn With evening’s festivities going awry I scrawled out all I could remember Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy Slight images of a lovely form Olfactory sparks upon my brain Sketching the party’s guest list But no new faces could remain Racking my skull for a proper memory Writing

She Wore White To The Hanging

She wore white to the hanging Fingers smudged from setting the patriarchy to burn She wore a guilty smile For they would never ever seem to learn By her beauty, they were always distracted But her brains they never could comprehend Once the fire went viral They wished they could call her a friend They