tanya-ann-erikson

American

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FlatlineThe more I writhe / The more you squeeze / And I can't breathe

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979

Nothing at allYour indications, / I thought I read them / On your face;

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Can this money?Has the world forgotten about you? / I’m somewhere- / Caught between famous footwear,

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767

BriefDeep / Charged storms awakens all that is you, contracting / Iris intrinsically forces you into the ambiance, spearing

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MotherPeer through the cracked bedroom door, out streams / Peaches of light, that shape wispy shadows on the / Walls, brief reflections of the many desperate fights.

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