Would-be writer


I hate living in a rented room

Meeting people in the hall

Waiting till the hall is empty

Hurry out sighing.

Walking for miles to find

An empty bar, where no one

Knows your secret that you are a drunk.

Paper and pen I wanted to write

A great novel.

Strong booze blurred words

Walking home

Hoping the hall would be empty.

◄ broken mirror

separate tables ►


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keith jeffries

Fri 9th Aug 2019 10:35


This poem has a quality all of its own as it is spoken directly and honestly about our daily circumstances and coveted ambitions.
Thank you

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