Jun 2016
The lines I write in my head make sense
Until my tears smear the ink
And muddle all my musings.
I let them bleed out of my fingertips
Til I'm left with ink blots and a tired heart
Until my tears smear the ink
And muddle all my musings.
I let them bleed out of my fingertips
Til I'm left with ink blots and a tired heart
