Pity is a feathered thing,
perches high above my bed,
feeds off flakes of moulting skin,
devouring the essence of me,
till bone rattling with distraught,
I scare it off.
(Poem from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)
Pity is a feathered thing,
perches high above my bed,
feeds off flakes of moulting skin,
devouring the essence of me,
till bone rattling with distraught,
I scare it off.
(Poem from Twitter @Vjknutson. Image from personal collection.)