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JUSTIFIED
Well, what can I say?
Questions always come my way.
I didn't ask for this
condition I share amiss.
The wayward means
are the in betweens.
Shuffling their way into the dark,
they crumble like brittly bark.
It all seems to unfair,
the thoughts I've not prepared.
Do me a favor; don't question why
most of the time I want to cry.
Now some of the time, it passes,
like a raven's evil glances.
Graven heart of mine has endured
and cannot be cured.
Michaela Warren 2011
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