Brianna R Duffin

She was an artist

Built from tragic beauty.

She was a house of pain

Walking and talking as if not.

She was a house of cards

In more ways than one.

She was a mother of sorrow

In her bay of desperation.

She was never more than a failure

A stumbling sack of lousy thoughts.

She was just a concerned former-citizen

And a prisoner of her childhood memories.

But, because she spent her life dreaming,

She was an esteemed champion.

I write poetry, prose, and personal pieces. All images are mine unless indicated otherwise. Feel free to leave feedback on my work anytime; I hope you enjoy.

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