the bucktoothed smiley

Non-stop. Impulsive. Painter. Copywriter. Brat.

Friday, November 16, 2012

un-flapping


Torn
by the
ice cold winds,
the wings,
scarred;
colours,
bleeding
into lifeless white,
flapped, frantically
and folded itself;
into
safety,
into the comforting darkness
of its empty cocoon.
Posted by bucktoothed smiley at Friday, November 16, 2012
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