flowers in the backseat
i’m all
dressed up in tragedy – a black shirt underneath my hoodie and skinny jeans to
hide the bruises on my legs with a pair of mismatched socks and overused sneakers
with fading silver sparkles. my dad removed the laces because i was in the
hospital for 10 days and i might have other dangerous thoughts. the graffiti of
sunshine tattoos itself upon my skin, rendering me almost blind as i stare at
it for a few seconds. i blow a kiss to the sky, signifying the end of november.
poetry has committed suicide like moonlight, jumping in precarious angles on
the pages of my wallpaper. your voice resembles windchimes, whispering inside
my ear like an acoustic lullaby.
Labels: letters to you
I blogged at
5:54 PM.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment