Hundreds of souls line his desk
surrounded by wood and covered in glass
captive
He collects memories he feeds on them
he thrives on them an empire of paper
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Hundreds of souls line his desk
mahogany, reddish-brown
he comes in every day to sit at it
and stare at his pictures
The windows are shut Gravity, both metaphorical and literal Bring it down. Bring me down. I am caged within my own skin It is dull here....
Sure I smile Sure I laugh Sure I’m friendly to all I meet But you don’t see the constant fears, the feeling sheer, the nights in tears....
Irate.... Livid.... Scornful.... Indignant.... All words I could use to describe the way you make me feel. The mere thought of you makes...
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