ever stopped
and thought about
nothing?
no. i haven't.
there's too much world
and just a little bit of me sinking
into it like soft butter.
you can't stop
and ponder
until the rest of it
stops with you.
and where is the art
while we wait?
gone. scraped clean. under your fingernails gathering dirt and
time you can't get back.
lost in a tide, forgotten on picnics
and under hot southern suns
burning up under our tongues
tasting like sour apple and spruce
what is the point?
i can't think nothing.
and there's no something
without it.
YOU ARE READING
little blue flowers
PoetryA collection of original poetry by Ella Petrichor. Highest Rank: #152 in Poetry (6/14/18) **COMPLETED** ::Excerpt:: "betrayal along the seams" A melancholic pallor lining her face She stood in the doorway Beating the shit out of that old rug As thou...
