The sun climbs up the window sill,
And potters up the hills,
And clouds look like cotton frills,
And the night is ridden of frosty chills;
These are what you call cheap thrills.
YOU ARE READING
An Amalgamation of Words
PoetryI'm almost as bad at writing descriptions as I am at writing poems, but at least I tried. Sharing my inner turmoil, one poorly worded sentence at a time.
