Clad in gaudy yellow
felt the ridge on my knee
I watch silent as I turn
but mutter to myself "Come on, no... please"
But I steal my own control
like a criminal, in the flesh
I sit here, at the end of my bed
I know that all is lost again
YOU ARE READING
Poems probably
Poetrythe later parts are a lot better than the first ones in my opinion poems and random stuff i want to put on here
