weather the storm

I see half of my face

After ages

Unrecognizable

Burnt

Whipped

Submissive

Turned into something ugly

An ugliness of times

A timid reflection of the day and signs

Eye is blood shot

Lips dry, thirsting for tonic

Lines on forehead looking like scattered and torn trenches

Two halves of one face

Flipping coins of pretence

Heads and tale, senseless and stale

Continue reading