Cut and run
she gets up just before the sun
holding her flip phone like a gun
forgetting who's her number one
he thought that they were done
otherwise he wouldn't phone
best they not be left alone
nobody wants to wreck this home
YOU ARE READING
starlit whispers
No Ficciónpoetic entries from the diary of a pansexual, pangender, and often panicked individual. Most of them are unfinished half baked ideas because I am a mess of a person.
