Dec 2014
The vial in which my anger is kept
Stores the ink that
Flows through my pen
Onto the
Paper in which my sorrow has bled;
The words, now meaningless--dead
Stores the ink that
Flows through my pen
Onto the
Paper in which my sorrow has bled;
The words, now meaningless--dead
Ink and water don't mix- blurred, illegible phrases appear.
(21/F/Reno, Nevada)
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