See-through Skin
Baptised in artificial waters, connective tissues rejoice in pre-set harmony; their purpose reborn as receptive intercessors that ache to vicariously denounce the darkness. Transplanted
"this is sixth form poetry, not Keats or Yeats"
Baptised in artificial waters, connective tissues rejoice in pre-set harmony; their purpose reborn as receptive intercessors that ache to vicariously denounce the darkness. Transplanted
Your body has a set of scales, To help to regulate the fat; Detecting where your weight is at, A backup as your leptin fails.
You sit there, gently trembling in your cage – The tones ring out; the floor begins to hum. The sudden shock of pain you cannot
Poor learners really aren’t to blame, They cannot switch what’s in their brain; The hippocampus is at fault, For making their connections halt. It’s
Now open your eyes to see an old face, An old face that somehow seems new. Straight to the point, and yet without a map