Ink-stained Fingers.
The creative writing journal of a journalist, traveller & to-be novelist
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Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Drift
People drift
Equations shift
Like tectonic plates.
Modern hieroglyphs grow
In the spaces where
Words should have been.
And silent moss
Takes over
By time, unseen.
Read more
Poetry
We're all Cocktails.
The smell of old paper.
Feeling
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