The lines cross like motorways, <br />And the rain leaves splashes on the roads, <br />There are no cars, <br />Just the pen, <br />Coating the paper in ink, <br />As sweat drips of my palm, <br />And splashes like bullets onto the paper.<br /><br />Nick Hilton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-palm-of-my-hand/
