"The truth is what I make it," he said, "I could set the world on fire and call it rain."
"Well as you so blatantly pointed out," she scoffed, "You burned your bridges don't try crossing them now."
YOU ARE READING
Bleeding Ink
PoetryI will not pretend to be a poet. I simply lace letters into words, words in verses and these verses are my feeling which have slowly bled through the pages of my notebook. This is my "Bleeding Ink".
