It was Eve Of New Years 23.
I hadn’t made it out of bed.
All attention on the internet.
Reveiwing “Things I Wish I Said.”
In hindsight sometimes, I remember.
All those things I wrote.
There are dozens must be thousands.
Searching for that tattoo guote.
Many ways to tell a story.
Some good and some are not.
Things are not as they appear.
Is the only worthy plot.