I find my scalp flaking.
Bits of dead skin escaping.
But they are not me
For I am sweet poetry.
Yet my little sun
Shall one day become
Just dust.
I find my scalp flaking.
Bits of dead skin escaping.
But they are not me
For I am sweet poetry.
Yet my little sun
Shall one day become
Just dust.
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Many thanks for sharing this, Michael. Kevin