deepundergroundpoetry.com
Hit and Miss
I don't breathe,
The air only escapes,
Out of holes in my neck,
Dripping words down onto my hands,
After applying exasperated ink,
The exhausted paper drapes,
As the second joker in a deck,
Unused in games of sport and unwanted by popular demand.
The air only escapes,
Out of holes in my neck,
Dripping words down onto my hands,
After applying exasperated ink,
The exhausted paper drapes,
As the second joker in a deck,
Unused in games of sport and unwanted by popular demand.
Published 9th Feb 2016
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