yay for hate!
dont you love it when you know a friendship that youve held on to forever is officially over?
fuck that.
A late night ramble
do you hear
that?
that’s the sound
of shriveling,
shrinking, wrinkling,
overwhelming doubts, weak in
the knees, we fall
and shatter our
porcelain hips
crafted in the
olden days; today they are
irreplaceable.
there’s the sound—
loud silence, no one
makes eye contact
because of the venom
hidden behind our
smiles. we read each other’s
minds as
the walls come
crashing down and shake
the ground for a few
seconds at most,
trying to hide
the pain we feel
from falling.
then we write.
all poems
are an attempt to
put ink to paper,
trying to resolve
everything and anything. but
it can’t erase the scars.
writing cannot create them
either, although the tip
of my pen is
quite confident
in its ability to
pierce fleshy
surfaces. can you hear
that sound it makes?
that’s the sound of
the venom spreading.
