Paper may just be plain white,
just plain white,
like the moon,
on it's darkest night,
shining against all the blackness,
crying against the poisonous ink,
that strokes softly, the coulour of pink,
high to low; to and fro,
here we go again.
YOU ARE READING
Poems
PoetryOh my God... Would you look at that.... Seriously..look! It's just a book of poems:? Tadaa@x BTW you pretty cool oreos, thanks for those who read and vote for them :) p.s. Genius.
