dear oliver,
how often has the sea
tumbled inside of me, waltzing
gracefully as wave after wave
crashes into my soul.
how often have voices inside my
head whispered promises of sweet
paradise, a utopia, a land consumed
and soaked in freedom.
how often have i become lachrymose,
weeping my soul away at dusk.
it scares me how often i have
suicidal thoughts.
doesn’t that
scare you?
quinn
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...
