February 28, 2017 by Rosemerry
In his heads, he swirls
the dark loose leaves
of his thoughts,
lets them boil
and steep too long,
then offers the tea
to others to drink,
but it spills before
the tea reaches the cup,
and he fumes,
throws in more leaves.
Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged anger, depression, poem, poetry, tea | Leave a Comment
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