my room is covered in dust
bare white walls illuminate like the ghost that lives inside of them
on my shelf is the vase you brought to me when I was sick
though the flowers died long ago,
graceful dahlias telling me to stay strong,
their corpses still sit in the same positions as when I first saw them
they didn't speak to me
much like the reason I lay underground
YOU ARE READING
not edgar allan poe
Poetrywhat i feel. what i am. what i know. my only escape. here.
