dear oliver,
i told her about you. she said, “screw
those who screw you up mentally” and
lit up a cigarette and let it hang by the
edge of her lips. “want some?”
i shrugged, “never had it before. why
smoke anyway when it has so much
bad effects?”
“because it lets you forget about what
you are doing for one second, drops you
into a supernova of mist where everything
is calm, and all you focus on is the way it
enters your body and exhales in puffs
of circles. you don’t focus on the way
stress piles up onto your shoulder till
you crack like ice. you don’t focus on the
way people look at you and curse under
their breath, asking to god, why even did
you create such a flaw? one of your failed
masterpieces? yet who are we to say
god exists when we don’t even know
if we are actually existing. we can be just
tiny little twinkles of shimmering stars. just
floating in this world, waiting to become
supernovas. until then, we are nothing.”
“wow.”
“this is what this thing here does to
you,” she laughed as she threw it
in the trash can nearby.
oliver, i like her more than you.
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...
