So imagine the paper was your skin,
And every time you tugged on the sellotape it was pulling, ripping, tearing at your flesh.
So you waited for an open door.
You waited until someone would come in and soothe your wound;
your for-ever sore.
YOU ARE READING
A Poet's Random Notes
PoetryThis is my book take a look. It's nothing special but that's my opinion to you. What have you got to lose? This is random poems I do on random days, so please mind my delay at times. love, hate, misery, joy, confusion, all summed up- all enclosed i...
