These are a bit of a wild ride, and I am most terribly sorry for any dip in quality. Most of these were written drunk on coffee at three in the morning, lovesick and with lungs full of sparrows. Bear with me, please, darlings.
Thank you, and please refrain from using these. They are my last hope at getting into a school fitting for me.
Much love, Kitt.
YOU ARE READING
Tasting the Colours of Ice
Poetrybreathe in my pulse and try not to suffocate in its irregularity A collection of poetry and prose dipped and coated in prosopagnosia's waxy aftertaste.
