In her absence,
my bedroom inhales.
Who had been ******* in the thick underbelly of our loathsomeness,
holding its breath for a moment
a-lone.
I am in this room.
I have the light on and an iron against my shirts.
It sighs a fat gust into in my face.
For a moment I almost turn,
expecting her to carry in that smoke and rotting bouquet.
Nothingness enters,
I understand this means I am stirred.
She makes a motion,
but not one of ripples or waves.
This is the hail of your destitution.
Nov 18, 2025
Nov 18, 2025 at 12:00 AM UTC
In her absence,
my bedroom inhales.
Who had been ******* in the thick underbelly of our loathsomeness,
holding its breath for a moment
a-lone.
I am in this room.
I have the light on and an iron against my shirts.
It sighs a fat gust into in my face.
For a moment I almost turn,
expecting her to carry in that smoke and rotting bouquet.
Nothingness enters,
I understand this means I am stirred.
She makes a motion,
but not one of ripples or waves.
This is the hail of your destitution.
