Alone I fall off into the mud
you speak of promise and hope
and hugs I pull myself up out
of my sinkhole, brushing off
the muck, cleaning my hands on
the green grasses. Typing is
easier when my fingers are not
stuck together in fear.
Alone I fall off into the mud
you speak of promise and hope
and hugs I pull myself up out
of my sinkhole, brushing off
the muck, cleaning my hands on
the green grasses. Typing is
easier when my fingers are not
stuck together in fear.
Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie 
Geez, E. That’s beautiful and tragic all at the same time…
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