Cruel
By atia
Fleeting thoughts Running in and out of my brain, Do not flee before you are caught, Made permanent in black and white, My pinstriped slaves on paper. There can never be enough So let me hoard some more, Unleash you from my soul And fetter you down on pages. I shall call you Poetry And you can call me cruel...Any suggestions for the title? Written December 18th, 2001 © on Dec 18 2001 06:31 AM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"Fleeting thoughts..."