dear oliver,
goddammit oliver.
where the hell are you?
i hate you. so so much.
i hate the fact that you
won’t reply to any messages.
i hate the fact that your mom is happy.
why the hell is she happy if you’re
suffering? if you’re hanging
onto a thread woven out
of disgust and vaporizing
cells?
she smiled at me today.
saw her at the grocery store.
things are changing.
she whispered, afraid of the
words seeping out of her lips.
changing? yeah, i can see that.
i always knew
beauty always wins
the hearts.
guess i never won yours.
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...
