Sanding, painting, spraying,
Sanding, gluing, priming.
Sliced my knuckle with a metal file.
My fingerprints are rubbed off from sanding.
Took a break for a while.
This skirt doesn't fit me.
Can't find the thingmy.
Fingertip glued to this wood for a while.
I'm honestly getting sick of sanding.
Where did I put that file?
I snapped another one;
F**k this shit, I'm so done.
YOU ARE READING
A Collection of Poetry Vol. I
PoetryA collection of previous poetry written by me, left the way it was when I discovered it. There are no specific genres or forms to these.
