☆

He is sober but his mouth tastes winey,
          His eyes, a reveller's drunken glaze. 
          
          

when is your next work?

I hope love is the closest to you when you're close to decaying.
          

I wonder how it would feel,
          the pungent acrid of irony blood
          mocking the runaway tales of freedom.
          What would it speak to my folks?
          If it could talk
          a mere tool,
          trying to claim innocence
          for a murder it didn’t commit.
          Yet it stains itself,
          carving into skin,
          a solid evidence.
          But we have none to blame.
          
          
          
          First thing i wrote this yearrrrr ajjsjdjdjdidudur

I actually have an immense ache for nothing and all at once. I hope in some years I open this account, look back and get hit with nostalgia like a truck again. Aha.

Hey. do you believe in vote for votes, comment for comments and follow for follow?

sexy asf

Hey, thanks for voting on my poetry book ❤️<3. I'm glad you liked it.

We play faces,
          A butterfly uncaged,
          Dancing on fragile wings,
          Left to it's free will. 
          While roaches crumble,
           bound to die,
          In the fleeting blink of an eye.
          Mortality has its aesthetics,
           wouldn’t you say, you and I are the same? 
          

Thanks for the vote and follow, mate.