I close my eyes and let out a sigh, before flopping down into my chair and swivelling to face the desk. Papers are strewn across its wooden surface, their black print stained with smears of ink and coffee that must have dripped from my chipped mug. Amongst them is enough evidence of criminal activity to get me imprisoned for life, were someone ever to see it and decide to call the cops on me.
Oh well.
If I've broken out of jail once before, what's there to stop me from doing it again?
YOU ARE READING
Poems and Random Descriptions
RandomRandom things that I like to write when I feel bursts of inspiration. Most of them will likely be poems.
