"do you feel old, yet?"
you asked, one day.
your hands,
covered in blood
you couldn't bear to look in my eyes.
the stream ran next to us
the color of my eyes
and yours, too
"i feel irrevocably young."
i told you
the stream filling
our silence.
sometimes,
the stream would run the color of
the blood on our hands.
that was my favorite time to swim in it,
of course,
but you always said
it reminded you too much of the events
that plagued you.
-icarus
YOU ARE READING
an idiots guide to life; how to survive the badlands of wyoming
Poetrythe slightly deranged ramblings of a teenage trans guy living in wyoming there's no overarching theme but there sure is a lot of dogs, horses, and god(s) . i do not know what i am talking about 97% of the time mostly posted chronologically in order...
