I can’t write a word,
without others following,
seeking a story,
Letters unopened,
lay scattered on the carpet,
like fall autumn leaves.
It’s getting harder,
to push this old cardboard box,
full of used notebooks.
As complex as simple is.
I can’t write a word,
without others following,
seeking a story,
Letters unopened,
lay scattered on the carpet,
like fall autumn leaves.
It’s getting harder,
to push this old cardboard box,
full of used notebooks.