Home Sheila Lynn A. Molarto
Sheila Lynn A. Molarto
Monologue
Cold. This is how you describe my hand—
unchanged and immobile in your clasp.
You stare from afar and run away
when you hear my footsteps following...
Of metaphors, cowards and defiance
I HAVE been seeing things
lately.
It seems that the metaphors I use in my poems are now coming to life. The immeasurable blackness, blobs of...
