[ 12. 22 ]
you picked me up on a
smoldering summer's day,
believing i was fit to drink
but to your surprise, then your demise
i turned out not to be water,
but instead i was bleach.
YOU ARE READING
past oblivion.
Poetry"what can i really say?" used to be my words, when i didn't know as much. when i got older, i responded to myself. "everything." now, i realize that i can use my breath to speak on everything in existence, from dust on jupiter to the depths of hell...
