Trains home are always the worst
When you have nothing left
To go home to.
I'm supposed to be
Returning your books today,
But all I keep returning to
Are
The cityscapes in your
November spine.
The lightbulb on our
Porch burnt out yesterday,
Not like you would have known
You have to actually come home
To notice those kinds
Of things.
YOU ARE READING
Breakable Contents
Ficção AdolescenteCollection of poetry and short narratives I've written so far, some of it is simply class assignments while others are older, published works. All of them were written of experiences personally affecting me; nothing artificial! Thanks for reading- y...
