In the dark somewhere,
He fumbled.
Unable
to get his bearings.
Too much drink,
and too many women
had dulled his charm.
Predictable.
He could hear them laugh
with scornful bleating.
Like hyenas,
hysterical.
writing as a way of life
My ramblings poems and musings enjoy or not no pressure
The varied thoughts of a millennial modern linguist.
Talking about real things
Poetry and Poems
All that is me!
CRIME WRITER
Fabulously Refined/Wildy Inappropriate
A home for the stories and poems that got away.
I Kill My Own Spiders
character limited descriptions kind of give me anxiety
A few new poems every week. Haikus on Sundays.
Reblogged this on Beasts of Articulation.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on georgeforfun.
LikeLike
Reblogged this on georgeforfun.
LikeLike