you found me sitting on the floor
the walls were peeling
sinks still dripped in the night
and the front door creaked and shook
you sat behind me, arms and body sore
running your hands through my hair and feeling
quiet and silent from this mornings fight
both facing away, refusing to look
"have you been smoking? your hair smells like it.
you were never good at keeping the smell off you."
YOU ARE READING
𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌
Poetrystatic stat·ic ˈstat-ik. adjective characterized by a lack of movement or change trigger warning: read at your own risk! | just an unnecessarily long collection of me trying to get over my feelings
