I trace these memores,
That linger on my skin,
That I can't let go.
I try not to,
Because it's like remembering too much.
But it seems like my fingers have learned to move by themselves.
And my eyes can't stop crying.
YOU ARE READING
The Ink Spilling From My Pen ✔
Poésie* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The ink that spilled out of my pen formed these poetry. * ** * * * * * * * * * * ** ** * * ** * * ** * ** ** *** ** * * ** * * ** A random poetry collection that spill...
