broken biscuits (Remove filter)
Rich Tea
we sit drinking coffee,
much is yet unspoken,
my cup looks cracked,
her biscuits all broken
the flat smells of damp,
split ends and oily hair,
scars bangle her wrists,
focus of my coy stare
by the hearth lies a cat
of a species I deplore,
yellow paint peels off
a lone bedroom door
on her neck a blemish
coated in stale powder,
all in all, a f...
Sunday 11th April 2021 11:15 am
Recent Comments
Tom Doolan on Let Me Go
5 hours ago
Tom Doolan on I Miss You So
5 hours ago
Rolph David on Mahsa Amini
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Mahsa Amini
8 hours ago
Rolph David on The Dead Horse Theory
8 hours ago
Rolph David on The Caged Tiril
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Beyond Fads: The Timeless Trend
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Beyond Fads: The Timeless Trend
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Limerick [Something Inside…]
8 hours ago
Rolph David on Potato Masher
9 hours ago