i stand at the crossroads,
her hands holding mine as she whispers poison into my ear
with a voice as sweet as syrup;
"they all leave you in the end."
as i watch them walk away
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efflorescence
Poetry- where my withering thoughts bloom [TW] don't judge me most of these are very old
xxviii.
i stand at the crossroads,
her hands holding mine as she whispers poison into my ear
with a voice as sweet as syrup;
"they all leave you in the end."
as i watch them walk away
