dear oliver,
once upon a time, oliver, when you were
out drinking away tiny bits of minutes of your
life with her, i was up in the horizon, in the skies, all hate
disperses and dreams of finding paradise
compromises with the glow of the
candle blown on a birthday, celebrated by one
person; everyone is gone, the cake is
half its regular size. too fat to eat anymore.
i watched myself in the mirror on my birthday.
my sixteenth birthday, sweet sixteen. the mirror
shattered by my feet as i jumped into my bed
and buried my suffering into the pillows.
the lies are consuming me and spreading past my
veins, stroking my chambers, squeezing my
skin, clawing it till blood crawls out of the scars, hoping
that maybe this will somehow burn away the
pounds.
quinn
YOU ARE READING
zero
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...
