So many people.
So much poverty.
Too little money.
Too little donations.
They don't understand.
They don't help.
We try so hard.
We don't know that it will never be enough.
What can we do?
When will it end?
That's the thing.
It doesn't end.
YOU ARE READING
Spilled Ink
PuisiThese poems are just little pieces that I write from everyday things that inspire me. Music, billboards, graffiti, it goes on and on. Hope you enjoy!
