Wasted Ink.
Rhymes fall cold upon the floor… blind they run beyond my saddened pen to pause, lost upon the page that shuns their touch. Those words, new born unused redundant ink has cast away.
» Read moreRhymes fall cold upon the floor… blind they run beyond my saddened pen to pause, lost upon the page that shuns their touch. Those words, new born unused redundant ink has cast away.
» Read more