he loves me best at 3:15 in the morning,
when the four corners of the
universe stop pumping with
adrenaline and fall to sleep, the
faint sound of life exuding from
its existence.
he loves me best when i vanish
into the blaring white that is my
ceiling. when i explore its depths and eventually
find myself flying alone in a world no one else can see.
YOU ARE READING
Balloon Thoughts
Poetryher world didn't hang on a thread. instead in the air, full of helium.
