TWENTY-FIVE
honey drips from every creviceHoney drips from my fingertips,
coating your wounds in it.
It soaks into your lungs
where all the suffering hibernates.
Are you still breathing?
I know the truth even though I'm asking.
How is your heart holding up?
Is it strong enough to take me with you?
What are some of your favorite holiday foods?
𒐀 Any kind of dessert, dinner rolls, and those little cheese & pickle trays.May
ESTÁS LEYENDO
𝐦𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 ➙ 𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘺
PoesíaMELANCHOLY | Melancholy drips from my fingertips. Here, I will speak the sadness, the heartache, and the decaying for all the unspoken. Perhaps under this layer of melancholy, the girl I once knew still exists. First poetry collection i...