XXXIII.
suddenly the days moved faster;
light flickering through the south window of my bedroom
as through the lens
of an antique projector.
i kept catching shadows leaping
erratically across my eye line,
and that eerie feeling constantly gave me nausea.
i do not think the star collector is the friendly spirit he used to be.
A
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fifteen (XV)
Poetryi prick my finger on a rose in my garden. my blood is not red. i take the wind caressing my face as a silent apology. cover art made by doradorapuff on tumblr. [2015] thank you to everyone who shared with me these short poems as they were published...
