My Whole Life On Scraps Of Paper

My whole life on scraps of paperMy soul jotted down on the pagePlot lines between scribblesCharacter development as we ageEverything that I am, right herePushing to further keep my mind trainedMy heart’s secret smudgedWithin these lines my identity is contained

It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn

It was a one-eyed kind of morn With evening’s festivities going awry I scrawled out all I could remember Once a gentleman, turned drunken guy Slight images of a lovely form Olfactory sparks upon my brain Sketching the party’s guest list But no new faces could remain Racking my skull for a proper memory WritingContinue reading “It Was A One-Eyed Kind Of Morn”