Help with the title
this is an old poem but i never really showed it to anyone. Atleast it's about 6 months old. I don't have a title for it because i don't know it yet.
we live the hue of seasons
humid soft and bloody the beginning
color-filled fragility and paper thin on becoming
Red emotional manifold and self portraits on the verge
yellow scales certain and secure with thee half done and near
white silvered scalp drying with still cold air and broken, spent completely
YCA feels like it's dying. There's only a few oldies left, like the people i've known the longest are all gone but maybe 3.
we live the hue of seasons
humid soft and bloody the beginning
color-filled fragility and paper thin on becoming
Red emotional manifold and self portraits on the verge
yellow scales certain and secure with thee half done and near
white silvered scalp drying with still cold air and broken, spent completely
YCA feels like it's dying. There's only a few oldies left, like the people i've known the longest are all gone but maybe 3.