Sleep is only an attempt to climb back into The mirror of yesterday Shattered and dancing drunk across my memory Still clinging to the gentle violence
By Phoebe Aletha Rose5 years ago in Poets
Morning light bled into the room as I woke to the sound of your breathing The birds outside praising the sun with their songs
0. They taught you “In the beginning, there was light.” When they ask you for your name Point to the scripture
I cut myself open with the tip of my pen Trying to find the words to say to the boys I once loved But instead there is a fire that bleeds out of me
