like the break of dawn through my window, the sound of approaching footsteps wakes my slumber.
the sun pounds his fist on the door and asks for money
i groan, slam down 10 for a moments rest;
who knew a new day could bring the same old, the same solitary sun burning through the bank with the same promise of dusk
YOU ARE READING
little poems
Поэзияthese are little poems that id never love enough to show [lowercase intended]
