broken biscuits (Remove filter)
Rich Tea
we sit drinking coffee,
much is yet unspoken,
my cup looks cracked,
her biscuits all broken
the flat smells of damp,
split ends and oily hair,
scars bangle her wrists,
focus of my coy stare
by the hearth lies a cat
of a species I deplore,
yellow paint peels off
a lone bedroom door
on her neck a blemish
coated in stale powder,
all in all, a f...
Sunday 11th April 2021 11:15 am
Recent Comments
M.C. Newberry on Combe Gibbet
38 minutes ago
Ian Whiteley on Citizens
43 minutes ago
M.C. Newberry on Sashaying to Byzantium
46 minutes ago
M.C. Newberry on IT AIN'T ME, BABE
56 minutes ago
Auracle on Festive FM
2 hours ago
Tim Higbee on Grandfather
3 hours ago
TobaniNataiella on She Says Goodbye
4 hours ago
R A Porter on Sashaying to Byzantium
6 hours ago
Ray Miller on Dominoes
10 hours ago
Red Brick Keshner on Beneath the Armour: Reaching for True Strength
10 hours ago