it doesn’t make sensE
it doesn’t feel righT
like brushing froM
end to rooT
similar to runninG
up the descendinG
exhausted. It doesn’t makE
sense. Craving yoU
sighing. Writing a poeM
when i should bE
writing truths. howlinG
thrashing, Despising, but sittinG
transferring thoughts on whY
it doesn’t make sensE
Oct 17, 2012
Oct 17, 2012 at 11:49 PM UTC
it doesn’t make sensE
it doesn’t feel righT
like brushing froM
end to rooT
similar to runninG
up the descendinG
exhausted. It doesn’t makE
sense. Craving yoU
sighing. Writing a poeM
when i should bE
writing truths. howlinG
thrashing, Despising, but sittinG
transferring thoughts on whY
it doesn’t make sensE
Request permission to use this poem