it doesn't sting you enough
to burn
and yet you flinch
when you see them hurled
rats in a snare
flies in an amber
i wonder why we're here
harry, harry, harry
i'm wondering
why are you here?
harry, harry, harry
the voice will find you here
YOU ARE READING
misanthropic somnolence || a writer's diary
Poetryto speak the thoughts you could not untangle
