XXXVI.
thicker thwack goes my sword.
we stand at odds
in a forest
on a hill.
a stick breaks.
the only person i've ever loved back was the one whose "i love you," meant something completely different,
or nothing at all.
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...
