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9:31 PM
October 10, 2017
another, because the arches in the sky aren’t/electric enough/you make the mistake of telling me you want someone to die for you, lose your composure in the early morning.
in a lab, poised by a burette worth more than my past three outfits put together, the dark red liquid in your beaker
beige-boy holds it out to me, asks me to smell it, i try to and the world moves fast to pull it away, your eyes wide, cheeks high and pretty
i’m not the type of person you ask those questions
© Ryan P.,Greenwood Village, CO
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I wrote this when I was sad, but not too sad.