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Ten Years Old

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit at a typewriter and bleed.” -Ernest Hemingway Ten years old There is a wound that never heals A brown, crusty, scabrous shroud overlies it Like fragile bark on a young … Continue reading

Posted in Poems about Life, Poems about pain, Poems about sadness and tragedy, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment