You’ve been staring at me for weeks, you hobgoblin.
You son of a whore.
Mindless. Voiceless. Hole who looks back at me with mendacity.
I scream at you. Poke at your chest. Scratch at you eyes.
—- Two —-
Rock back and forth on my heels.
Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe Tomorrow.
But I HAVE started; haven’t I !
- It Starts With a Blank Page (betterlifecoachingblog.com)
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- The blank page (greatpoetrymhf.wordpress.com)