The years have grown
moss over my name,
my transgression carved
into memory’s vestibule
always finding there
one chair turned away,
its back carved with
the shape of your absence.
.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:11 AM UTC
The years have grown
moss over my name,
my transgression carved
into memory’s vestibule
always finding there
one chair turned away,
its back carved with
the shape of your absence.
.
