Prompt: The year is 12023, you are writing your...
How I wished you walked away
sooner...
Oh, how fragile are the soundless beauties,
Blemish brambles...
Home insisted on grief—an overabundance of never...
consisting of too little, reduced to living in...
the hammer
nailed the toe...
dip your fingers in the blood-red skies like you...
with alta dye – tonight, i will study your hands...
Somehow I seem to only find myself
living here in the Aprils of my youth...
oh sweet child, do you still pluck a
dandelion to adorn every bouquet...
It might be the poignant words
which I've not been waiting for...
i sought affection from your words.
you – you needed kind words spoken...
Your name still picks holes
between my ribs...
The reason we keep on going
is that we are not going anywhere...