Our heart's like a pickled radish
when Bottled in our own body
for so long
but unlike pickles
it doesn't make it flavorful
No, our pickled hearts
it turns bitter
and lonely
and empty
forever waiting
for something it doesn't know
whether love,
or another bottle,
another body
to carry the burden.
YOU ARE READING
3:47
Poetrya random notebook that I'll fill with poems and stories to keep me busy (aka feeling productive) during quarantine. Stay safe and enjoy reading! ❤️
