On a polished oak desk
Wrapped in a thin dust-jacket
Lies an unused pen,
A blank sheet of paper,
And an empty pack of cigarettes.
I used to think that if these things could breathe, they would be loneliness personified.
But that's wrong.
If they lived, they wouldn't be lonely at all.
Jul 16, 2015
Jul 16, 2015 at 7:39 PM UTC
On a polished oak desk
Wrapped in a thin dust-jacket
Lies an unused pen,
A blank sheet of paper,
And an empty pack of cigarettes.
I used to think that if these things could breathe, they would be loneliness personified.
But that's wrong.
If they lived, they wouldn't be lonely at all.
