We are surrounded by the ocean, and the
Ocean is me. There's nothing deeper than
The metaphors we listen to and rephrase
And call our own. There was a guy.
For the sake of memories, we'll say he
Was in love with me as a friend and
He was the worst perfect there was to
Befriend in a person. I loved him back.
He's all grown up now, he's not waiting
To give me time. He's so far
From where home his at, and I don't blame him.
YOU ARE READING
Noyadé
PoésieA series of small works: finished works and unfinished scraps and sober thoughts and inebriated words and drunk minds and me. All of me in here.
