Got bit by the writing bug.
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Painted scene on my eyelids, all blended together White. Bundled in a parka, hat, and gloves, boots to tread along.
By Bugsy Watts4 years ago in Poets
The day I was born, a gift sat on my bedside table. A beautiful bouquet of flowers, real or imagined… I’m not quite sure.
By Bugsy Watts5 years ago in Poets
I pondered as I always did on the 'used to' people who lived here once. * The dusty, dirt-laden suitcase belonged to a man.
I reveal my soul in the dark of night The time when all passions take their flight When the stare of people and their judging eyes
I want to capture the moments. All of the ones that matter. I want the burnt image of sparklers at dusk, twirling in senseless shapes.