Dec 2014
Paper skin
The ink runs right off
Straw hair
I can't seem to chop
Glass hands
No one can hold
Plaster legs
From a broken mold
The ink runs right off
Straw hair
I can't seem to chop
Glass hands
No one can hold
Plaster legs
From a broken mold
I wish I wrote longer poems. "/
Maybe I'll add to it, or not...
Maybe I'll add to it, or not...
