Tears slide down my face with a relative path
guided by gravity and my sorrows from past
carving a way, down my ebony skin
leaving trails of sadness to let the healing begin
Salt deposits felt, so time to scrub my face
I'm just tired, so I yawned .. oops, was this poem out of place?
:)
Your 'ol caramel complected ass is not ebony :-)
ReplyDeleteand yes it was out of place but of course me diggs: makes you think like art is 'sposed to.