the truth is, i’m beginning to run out of things say to you. loneliness hollows out your bones the same way a spoon does to fruit. you bare your neck out to people who bite just so you can say that someone put their lips on you. the blood soaks my skin when we hug and the love you want is not one that i can give to you. i’m sorry. i’m so clumsy when it comes to needle and thread. balms are so sticky, so messy, but bandages are the body’s reminder that skin will stitch together, that wounds will heal.
YOU ARE READING
plethora
Randomthoughts take root in my mind like so many seeds. sprouting, germinating. cup an ovule in wet palms and see how hard it grows to reach the light. this is a collection of poems about everything and nothing at all. some of them may contain sensitive m...
