Often at breakfast, I savour the piquant poetry

A part of my skin burns, the other patch numb with cold.

I exaggerate everything. The pain under my eyes. The strain in my muscles.

raindrops

The cost of trust.

Like tulips of the spring, burns ornate pores of my dark. https://www.instagram.com/p/CHIDv43Fm-x

I saw a grey love. As rotten as a deserted carcass. https://www.instagram.com/p/CFuSe-OH7j8