Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Mar 2020
Queues of our lives
Are not moving,
We are standing in them,
We are groaning and we are foaming.
We are getting mad,
We are getting dead,
We are suddenly getting happy,
We are waiting to meet a yeti,
Or to write some spectacular book,
And be off the hook.
Written by
Kafka Joint
Please log in to view and add comments on poems