Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jun 2018
Frying pan to fire,
Escape into a trap,
Of course the grass is greener,
'til you stop and lay your hat.
She monitors your phonecalls
and every move you make -
You will always say it's greener
In your prison with no break.
Written by
Ingrid Midd
Please log in to view and add comments on poems