we beg for black holes to
swallow us without ever
knowing that we are a
black hole in ourselves
we let the future decide
our present and we
let the past rule our future
never living a day freely
we are an entangled mess
not wanting to be free
yet fighting for freedom
freedom we call death.
YOU ARE READING
Ink Stuff
PoetryA drop of ink defines thousands of memories and millions of emotions. Cover by: Desi_damsel
