My curtains are closed, but
outside my window, there's a marina.
Filled with boats and boats and a
restaurant with mediocre, fatty
breakfast food.
I'm laying on this red couch
inside my house
perfectly content with sleeping in
and not eating breakfast food.
Okay, maybe I'm stretching the truth.
YOU ARE READING
Shut Your Eyes (February 2011 - August 2011)
PoetryI'm like an actor who forgets his lines because of stage-fright. I can't trust myself. So let my writings speak for my heart and for my head, let them say the words I can't say aloud. This is all I've got, since being quiet and contemplative hasn't...
