without thinking twice,
i shut the door hard.
my breathings raged.
my mind crowded.
my eyes blurred.
my ears deafed.
my hands trembled.
i can do it myself.
— he keeps on knocking, still
YOU ARE READING
a writer's tear can write a book
Poesie". . . but if being sad is the only way to make myself write then i would gladly volunteer to be obliterated." genre: poetry // english
