i squeezed my tear duct like a button but the water flowed out from my nostril instead.
i woke up a season later, wishing my head was mde of memory foam, scrunched and pulled to the same spongey boat it was before. but it had sprung back to its globular glass form, hollow and breakable.
YOU ARE READING
i'll never be a poet
شِعرand here's the pretentious proof an ongoing anthology of the poetry of nobodi.
