I have been shywith the moonof late that cool ivory disdain the eyethat sees how smallI am and howcompletely I have…
It began like any other daya slow hiss of humdrumthe gentle knock of ennui…
Life is about pretending,Pretending to be ok,Even when the broken arrows of friendships stick out…
for some, night will be that pageon which they will spill ink.
On September mornings