dear oliver,
remember when, "you've
got to eat," he mumbled
quietly. "you haven't
touched your plate
and lunch is almost over."
my shoulders slumped
against the wall as my
eyes fluttered above
the chipped building.
"it's dying."
"what is?"
"the building, it's dying.
the colors are fading,
the edges are slipping
away, and it's caving in
as if the pressure of
the voices that carry
throughout the halls
and the secrets that
they bring with them
are too much for it."
"you really need to
start eating," he chuckled.
remember when, her voice
rung throughout the patch
of green as she waved at you;
the liquor hanging by her lips.
"i'll see you later, okay?"
you whispered against my
temple as you jogged after
her.
i can't eat, oliver, i can't.
if i do, i will never be as
pretty as she is.
quinn
//
thank you to @tragicstory for making such a lovely edit (on the side). thank you, thank you <3
YOU ARE READING
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PoetryQuinn scribbles tainted emotions across thin layers of white paper. But to who? To someone who blinks once, sees her, and blinks again-just to make her disappear. To someone who sees her as a symbol of the ocean. To someone who thinks the ocean is...
