Archive
11/08/08 - (3)
A Bad Smell
The blank page staring back at me Has the rank smell of yesterday's unsold smelt, Though I haven't scribbled a single inky word.
Could it be that the paper senses my thoughts, emotions, Hovering above its blue-ruled space, Anticipates imminent defilement,
Realizes a truth about me I haven't yet discerned? Could it be that something inside me has died, And it's just begun to rot?
11/08/08 - (3)
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