i think
i nearly punched her
the first day.
i can't remember now.
she won't admit it.
but,
i think i did.
YOU ARE READING
clouded
Poetrycigarettes, to the broken soul, are what advil is to an aching head. an escape from all pain. -- best rank: #974 in short story
36
i think
i nearly punched her
the first day.
i can't remember now.
she won't admit it.
but,
i think i did.