spilled messages

The less time I have, the more compelled I feel to spill on the pages. The longer the queue of words, awaiting their turns. The day changes, and the moon gets tired of my same old same old. I see her yawn a few times and I don’t blame her.

How long have I been carrying these messages within?

Who knows.

I’m still trying to figure out what they are really about.


© annie scribes 2017
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