Oct 2015
Gleaming white paper
from the mill to my home,
Bright white paper,
In my desk now stored.
A story shall I write,
maybe a poem my own
Or in my hands crumple
and throw it when it's torn
from the mill to my home,
Bright white paper,
In my desk now stored.
A story shall I write,
maybe a poem my own
Or in my hands crumple
and throw it when it's torn
(30/Cisgender Male)
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