and i could use your disappearance
as a metaphor that no one could understand
i could let poetry pour from my eyes
and letters spill from my mouth
but would there even be a point
in trying to feel better
when it was you
who made me feel my best?
YOU ARE READING
quarter to dawn {poetry}
Şiira collection of poems. you ask me why i like art and i tell you that the water colours bleed prettier than my wrists
