i miss you, i miss home.
i've been setting fires in my bedroom,
burning my fingernails over open flames
until they blacken and melt away like wax.
all these miles have turned me into a candle
with a timer
ticking day after day until i either burn out or explode.
YOU ARE READING
Heartless and Disorientated
PoetryF. T. Willz wannabe I'm a tortured poet I guess -all photography is by me-