Oct 2016
By the way we've proceeded, I've gathered
Up hints like raspberries in a basket
The fruit is sweet, but the thorns are sharp and the dye stains red
My fingers are crimson and I'm not mistaken
You don't want anything to do with me
Up hints like raspberries in a basket
The fruit is sweet, but the thorns are sharp and the dye stains red
My fingers are crimson and I'm not mistaken
You don't want anything to do with me
I'm sorry these poems seem so sad, I'm really not sad, just contemplative, I guess.
