i'm dying to scream your name in a crowded airport someday,
grab hold of saltwater and swallow tears instead of pills for once,
aspirin never worked on me anyway, but it's the thought that counts.
i'm cold, i'm fucking bitter alright, more than my rightful amount of dead sea,
although, for some reason, i'm still reaching out for menthol hands.
but there are days when i hope you get stabbed in the back and know how it feels.
when i hope you get shot in the heart while looking at me.
YOU ARE READING
Rough Diamonds
Poetrya collection of thoughts, depicting broken locks and the colours of loss. possibly some of my favourite poems that i've ever written. (p.s this will replace birthright because i'm unhappy with birthright at this point. birthright will still be aroun...
