Poems from Alanis
More often than not, it’s hard to rhyme.
With simple decades of time
A small death can lend,
After the bodies lay freshly rend.
A slow in...
Four Hundred and twenty-two
Miles away, O’lucky Few
Idle Hands, the work of a fiend
Cold Whiskey on the palet: Quarantined.
Blue,...
Over in an instant.
We spend most of life sleeping they say-
I think many people would be resistant.
Oh god sometimes we would spend the...
Rotten picnic lunches
Wilting roses sold in bunches
The smile of a dollar whore
Broken down, throw a punch.
The longest of days are the...
She beats here wings
Hollow is the wind, empty and in shambles.
as the white dove can not fly from a land of kings.
As she Claws and cries...