I spill my guts onto paper
I use a pen to make the incision
My blood oozes out pitch black
stretching across the page
I call it a confession
You call it poetry
From: Hanako.
YOU ARE READING
letters unsent.
PoetryI'm going to fall a lot before I learn to fly. (The recent poems are better.) -------- .˚ ᵎ┊͙ ⋆*☁️ ⓒ fallen-spector
