Uncontrolled
It’s late and cold
We’re getting old
The life we had, remains untold
Long gone are the days when we felt bold.
Now everything turns into mold,
The perfect lives are getting sold
Only to the ones with pots of gold.
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Psychochromatic Redemption 
Isn’t that the truth! Love it!
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Thank you!
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So powerfully captivating the rescuer in me wants to embrace the poet, to assure it’s going to be okay. Great work, Mesca. ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤
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Thanks a lot Roo, for your lovely words! Sometimes it helps to be an empath 🙂
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