I sat swiftly
on the edge of my bed.
Linking my two soft hands
is a sheet of paper
ready to be
the ballroom of misery.
I held my pen,
and guided it's movement.
I let it dance on the paper
and transcribe my thoughts,
leaving nothing
but ink of grief.
May 6, 2015
May 6, 2015 at 5:49 AM UTC
I sat swiftly
on the edge of my bed.
Linking my two soft hands
is a sheet of paper
ready to be
the ballroom of misery.
I held my pen,
and guided it's movement.
I let it dance on the paper
and transcribe my thoughts,
leaving nothing
but ink of grief.
