is it one memory, or the way
each memory eclipses another that makes the soul so dark?
in a little while, any moment becomes like a canvas
ripped from its frame. now all i can think of is how
we are made from atoms of long dead stars,and how we never die.
YOU ARE READING
poetry for the poetic: 5
Poetrythis is my fifth poetry book on this profile! please check out my other 4 x thank you for reading ❤️