living have been quite despiseful--
it does not make my life so wonderful.
for us to have precious gifts in our hands
and to not use it for the general good
and to have a poison of morsels
in the hands of mine
slowly breaks my stoic spine.
from the gasps of all the exhausting fight—
when my hands begin to crumble as i write,
i'll always hand my love back to you.
i am tired to have a grudge on my own world
and to have not my little hands being hold.
March 05, 2023 (10:01pm)
von, little hand