Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2020
The light barely enters through the curtains on the window.
The smell of the concrete floor and oil.
Emptyness in every second.
Disorganized toil.
OblertPumpernikle
Written by
OblertPumpernikle  27/M/United States
(27/M/United States)   
152
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems