when it's blue, it's not dead
a poem on love and grief
By Jay,when I writePublished 3 years ago • 1 min read
Photo by Nick Fewings on Unsplash
she held onto them
though ever lifeless it was then
she felt for a pulse
About the Creator
Jay,when I write
Hello.
What?
23, Black, queer, yup
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Day 4 of Quitting
If this is how sobriety feels, maybe it’s better to go through life a little buzzed… this, along with other hits like, I want to kill myself, I wish I was dead, and I’m going to throw myself off a bridge have been the only thoughts on rotation these past few days. I promise myself that if, in a month, I still feel like this (‘this’ meaning despondent, full of rage, and simultaneously numb) I can go back to smoking. Until mid-February though? Nicotine is off the table.
By sleepy drafts6 days ago in Longevity
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