The wind howls—
like a wolf dying of hunger.
the rain drums—
I can bear it no longer.
When will they see that death is—
harsh
gentle
malevolent
loving?
When will they see that life is—
cruel
warm
monotonous
exciting?
(not written for any contests, but just a random poem)
YOU ARE READING
Here You Go: A Collection of Garbage and Other Things
RandomWant to read crappy writing induced by a plethora of Red Bull, spite, and sheer lack of motivation for actual, important, non-crappy writing? Then this is the book for you!
