I don’t write life with a pen. I do it with a strangeness dripping from the eyes of people I know. Some call it tears. I don’t coverup love with blankets. I cover it with a smile torn from a past moment in time. Some call it Youth. I don’t feel the pain with my hands. I feel it with a fear I know I … Continue reading Spiraling Insanity #51 of 365 Poems