I swear it's like sand
And I'm back at the beach
Eight years old
Trying to dig a hole
That keeps filling itself
With sand, with water
Whatever comes with the tide
And the people are laughing
Because they know what I don't
And I think I'll show them
But the words are falling around me
And the next day the hole is gone
As if I was never there at all
YOU ARE READING
Bad Poetry Dump 3096
PoesiaThings got bad again and I'm coping. Bad art is still worthy it if it helps me.
