i may be a little overgrown

i die with a deep breath:

 

soft / with oxygen, limp / with
meaning. & i am / licking my
wounds / in front of the open window; /
just one stripe of the
moon / & the bedroom blooms
through the curtain. time grows
like ivy, gnaws through the threads
of this floorstorm on the carpet, &
my eyes grow lead-heavy / but the ghosts

 

of these leaves
won't leave me 






Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback