Sep 2020
I taste an afterthought of blue.
Melancholy wrapped in my tongue.
I want to slide into the river.
Someday I'll find the house on the hill.
Until then I shall scratch.
Melancholy wrapped in my tongue.
I want to slide into the river.
Someday I'll find the house on the hill.
Until then I shall scratch.
(29/M/Chicago)
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