dear oliver,
seventy-seven
pills. seventy-seven
shots. seventy-seven
cuts. seventy-seven
days of you ignoring
me.
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...
xcvii.
dear oliver,
seventy-seven
pills. seventy-seven
shots. seventy-seven
cuts. seventy-seven
days of you ignoring
me.
quinn
