Pain is a continent
That I seem to fit in perfectly
I never truly belonged anywhere else anyway.
Your lips were the map that guided me home
How can I complain
About being stranded on a continent of pain
When I tore up the only map I had
And left it to mourn
YOU ARE READING
obituary
Short StoryAll is quiet at 1:35 a.m., As I try to clear my head. It's as though I've blinked and everything has changed. It's been happening for a long time, I know, But then again, That's how it always is, Isn't it? thoughts of a sleepless poet dipped in hear...
