"What are you doing?" my sister asks me,
It's eleven o'clock at night.
She hears the crackle of paper, the pen scratching;
The sounds I make as I write.
YOU ARE READING
Late Night Poetry
PoetryRambly poems that I write late at night. I only just realised that rhymed, how ironic. Uploads every Friday
As I Write
"What are you doing?" my sister asks me,
It's eleven o'clock at night.
She hears the crackle of paper, the pen scratching;
The sounds I make as I write.
