she still prays for love; the rest of us look for ourselves in everyone we meet
stacking sterile heart upon sterile heart; they're clean now but damn does it sting
seeing her sidereal romances, no fog to shroud her halo,
is bitter as arsenic lacing the mascara i never washed off
YOU ARE READING
ennui
Poetrywill i fork lightning? will i catch and sing the sun in flight? highest: #12 poetry
