There's always powdered milk on the table when I go home, Soup crackers and rye bread for porridge. It isn't my home-- There's always an empty room for visitors to sleep, To stay. But there's never much room for me. I packed my things last night to runaway, I locked the door and threw my... Continue Reading →

Grab a Bowl

I visited my hometown yesterday: My hands became cold as I climbed off the bus. This place never gave me any comfort, just anxiety.  l/r

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