your mind seems clear,
but your wrists are stained.
your face says happy,
but your eyes say pain.
-k.d.
YOU ARE READING
life as we know it
PoetryBeing a poet is like being really sick. But instead of vomit, words come out. This is my word vomit.
mask
your mind seems clear,
but your wrists are stained.
your face says happy,
but your eyes say pain.
-k.d.