Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Oct 2019
I can't tell.

I tried.

But, well...

It's either a splinter of a crack pipe,
or whiskey glass, flacked and fracked about in my finger.



I can't smell.

I'd guess it's burgers.

Or ******.

It sounds so beautiful, it could even be Schroeder from peanuts.

I know I'm not new to this... But.
I brought noodles,
and I'm remiss out of how I should make me new.
T R S
Written by
T R S  29/M
(29/M)   
60
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems