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Bedsores coat my body, I've laid in this casket for so long but It's Monday, the garbage truck will pick me up. I've just now had enough time to put on my knee socks to relax, to which I hunched over and felt the dirt rumble over. Time passes, It's January, it's February, skip a few, it's August. Year-round I would tear myself up only to return to that spot like a holiday. Deep in the ground, I feel like potting soil. Grow a tree over me and breath the fresh air of life. How ironic. It's all ironic.
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Shreds of Hope
Poetry"Don't pass out hope like gum, you'll have none left for yourself." This irreverent and fatal blowing poetry is a calling to selflessness and an end to a relationship. All that was left were senseless shreds of hope. #1 (PoetryCollection) 4.3.22 #1...
