No title

They all ask what happened to her 

She used to be alive 

Now vacant she can barely afford a smile 

Her hands are calloused like frying pans 

Left in the heat of a heart always being in the wrong place for too long 

She didn't know how to pull away

And the lonliness ate away 

At her core

Each faded memory and each still desired wish 

Tearing into her like termites 

She might 

One day come to 

The line is flat 

And her eyes don't tell no stories anymore

©L.A. Fraser

Fear

He wondered why she was afraid of water...

It was because

Every night she drowned in her tears

L.A. Fraser 

Wanderers, wondering

How many of us are lost poets 

Boarding planes 

Hopping on trains 

Roaming plains of memories and what-ifs 

Stepping back in a muck of regrets 

Diving into sharp depths 

Of what was and what could be 

Or should be...

How many of us are lost poets 

Forgetting to just live the journey? 

©L.A. Fraser

Writer's vow

I'm not meant for the camera, not meant for the stage. My place is in the black passionate ink that dresses the empty page ✒️➰〰

©L.A. Fraser 

The poet will always be trapped in a web of magic & romance, spinning & weaving dreams of what love should be. #micropoetry 

©L.A. Fraser

Some people worry about being haunted by ghosts

I worry about being haunted by memories 

©L.A. Fraser